


Across the Universe

by destimushi, JhanaMay



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Once Upon a Time (TV), Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angel Wings, Canon Divergent, Dom/sub Undertones, Double Penetration, Double Penetration in One Hole, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Orgies of epic proportion, Sentient Hat, Wing Kink, canon-typical trauma, cross dimensional travel, jefferson/bucky/steve/tony/dean/castiel, jefferson/bucky/steve/tony/stevem/danny, jefferson/bucky/steve/tony/stiles/derek, the six name ship tags are orgies only, this is not crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2019-06-05 08:51:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 43
Words: 50,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15167075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destimushi/pseuds/destimushi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/JhanaMay/pseuds/JhanaMay
Summary: Life hasn’t been a fairytale for the inhabitants of the Enchanted Forest, but Jefferson has suffered more than most. There are so many choices he would take back, decisions he would make differently, to reach a better end to his story—one in which he is reunited with the only person in the world who matters to him, his daughter Grace.But although Jefferson has crossed dimensions and escaped beheading, he knows there is only one end to his story. One in which he is alone, living out the rest of his days in isolation, yearning for things he’ll never have again.His hat has other plans…Hurtled through different dimensions, Jefferson meets people who have as much baggage as he does. Is this an opportunity to learn to forgive himself or another way for the universe to punish him?A massive crossover where Jefferson learns to overcome his demons and finds that sometimes the universe gives you what you need, not only what you want.





	1. Chapter by destimushi

**Author's Note:**

> This story is not a crackfic. 
> 
> Despite the original idea of "hey I want to see identical Bucky faces sucking off Steve Rogers," JhanaMay and I are incapable of porn without plot, so here we are. We're both dirty dirty multi-shippers so please excuse us while we indulge in our dirty dirty fantasies of hot men with serious baggage getting it on with each other. 
> 
> The inspiration for this story also stemmed from the song "Pony" by Ginuwine. You can listen to the song and watch the video [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=68IFfpJNLUs). 
> 
> The story will update weekly on Wednesdays. Only the first chapter has heavy references to the song lyrics. This is not a lyric fic. Thanks for giving this massive clusterfuck of an orgy a shot! We both hope you enjoy Jefferson's journey and the smut!

_I'm just a bachelor  
_ _I'm looking for a partner_

Hot. Throbbing. Utterly filthy. The perfect blend of too-heavy bass and silky smooth melody.

Deep in the bowels of a mansion tucked far from the townsfolk of Storybrooke, exists something not so chaste and far more tantalizing. No one here to bestow true-love’s kiss. Only the ragged, shallow breaths of a lonely man—oh so mad with need—slowly stroking the embers of his passion to life.

 _Someone who knows how to ride_  
_Without even falling off_  
_Gotta be compatible  
Takes me to my limits_

Vibrations shake the foundation of his extravagant yet vacant dwelling, the beat of the music oozing between the cracks. Sometimes, if he closes his eyes and breathes just deep enough, the music flows right through him and leaves behind so much filth it fills the gaps in his soul.

 _If you're horny let’s do it, ride it, my pony  
_ _My saddle's waiting, come and jump on it_

His fingers are slippery with spit and strawberry lube because there is no one here to judge him for his choice of slick. His cock stands at full mast, pulsing proudly between the junction of his splayed thighs. Deft fingers trace along the velvet head, and none but the sharpest of hisses rise above the loud, undulating thud of the music.   

 _Sitting here flossing  
_ _Peepin' your steelo_

This room, hidden from prying eyes, is his workshop, his sanctuary. His hats—hand crafted with love and care—are stored on evenly spaced shelves with a little piece of himself embedded in every one. Here, he can relax, and as he finally wraps wet, hot fingers around his shaft, he throws his head back in ecstasy. The hat he’s wearing, the one he loves above all others, tips and falls, landing with a soft thud that gets swallowed by the thumping beat. It lays behind his chair in silence. Forgotten.

 _Just once if I have the chance  
_ _The things I would do to you_

There isn’t anyone else here; there hasn’t been in a long time. Sweet lube rubs into delicate skin with each drag of deliberate fingers, the thumb the cruelest of them all. Sometimes he wishes he wasn’t so alone, that there was someone to wrap their hand around his throat as they thrust into soft, pliant flesh.

And after they finish inside him, their passion a scorching trail of milky release dripping obscenely down his leg, he would drag his fingers through it and lick it clean because he wants to taste the musk and salt.

 _You and your body_  
_Every single portion_  
_Send chills up and down your spine  
Juice flowing down your thigh_

His arm moves to the steady rhythm, powerful strokes that squeeze out droplets of his soul with each drag of skin on slippery skin. His breath stutters as he remembers the taste of desire on his tongue, the muscle licking parted lips to spread the flavour around.

 _If we're gonna get nasty baby_  
First _we'll show and tell_  
_Till' I reach your pony tail, oh  
Lurk all over and through you baby_

He yearns for something debauched, so tired of pristine fairy tales. There is rot and decay hidden behind every story.

(The evil queen is a slut for praises, and Snow White is a wanton whore for her Prince Charming.)

He doubles over in his chair, his fist pumping up and down in a blur, and he whimpers.

(Little Red Riding Hood still dreams of nightmares only the glide of sweaty bodies can chase away.)

His toes curl, stomach clenches, and his dick is leaking so much the scent of it overpowers the strawberry in the air.

There is no enchantment, only momentary glimpses of magic when bodies soar above the clouds.

 _Until we reach the stream  
_ _You'll be on my jockey team, oh_

Corded muscles twitch in time with each increased _thump_ , _thump_ , _thump_ of his heart. His mouth opens in a silent scream, head thrown back and body spasming to the music—now a cacophony of instruments and voices in his head. His chair teeters on its back legs, shaking and straining to hold the weight of the writhing body encased within. Gravity pulls them backwards, falling but never hitting the floor.

A swirl of purple light, and the hat swallows him whole.

He doesn’t remember activating the hat, but here he is, his pants around his ankles, his fingers still wrapped around his half-hard cock. Pairs of eyes land on him, taking in the pink flush of his pale skin and the globs of cooling spend pooling in the valleys of his bare abs.

He has no clue where he is, but for once Jefferson doesn’t care.  

 _If you're horny let’s do it, ride it, my pony  
_ _My saddle's waiting, come and jump on it_

 


	2. Chapter 2

Loud thumps of bass echo, reverberating through Bucky’s body. Every muscle tenses, locked tight and trembling, straining. The hot, hard thrust of Steve’s cock inside him shoves him forward on his hands and knees. He’s forced to gag on Tony’s dick when it slips farther into his throat, saliva dribbling over his chin. He shudders, unable to breathe or swallow around the thickness until Steve’s hands on his hips drag him backward again, impaling him on the length buried in his ass. Tony’s fingers tighten in his hair, keeping him from pulling off, encouraging him to suck and lick at the head frantically until Steve pushes him forward again.

It’s everything Bucky wants, everything he needed when he begged them to take him out of his head for a while. The last mission was hard on the entire team, but Bucky loses a sliver of his hard-won peace every time he takes up the mantle of the Winter Soldier. He wants to be reminded, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he is Bucky Barnes.

For once, they’ve let him pick the music. Not the soft romanticism of Steve’s folksy singer-songwriters nor the cacophony of heavy metal Tony prefers. Instead, a driving R&B beat that would be at home in the club Tony sometimes lets Bucky drag him to fills the room. The part of his brain capable of conscious thought remembers dancing to this song, bodies grinding together until Tony pulled him off the dance floor and home to Steve and their bed.

_If you’re horny, let’s do it, ride it, my pony_  
_saddle’s waiting, come and jump on it_  
_If you’re horny, let’s do it, ride it, my pony_  
_My saddle’s waiting, come and jump on it_

Tony’s fingertips graze his cheek, dragging against the rough stubble there. Maybe he should have taken the time to shave, but his body had been a live wire vibrating with adrenaline. The Winter Soldier knows what to do with that energy, turning it into maximum carnage, but Bucky prefers to let his lovers fuck it out of him. “So fucking good, Bucky. Your mouth is amazing, the way you take my cock,” Tony croons, his other hand slipping over his abs to squeeze the base of his dick.

Bucky moans around Tony’s cock, as much from the praise as from the knowledge that Tony is having a hard time controlling himself. He sucks harder, hollowing his cheeks even as Steve shoves him forward, his hips hitting Bucky’s ass as he buries himself to the hilt. The bitterness of Tony’s pre-come coats the back of his throat, and he chases it when Steve tugs him away again.

“Christ, Buck. I’m not gonna last,” Steve breathes, folding forward to press his chest against Bucky’s back. The heat of his body is a brand against Bucky’s sweat-slicked skin despite Tony’s earlier request for JARVIS to turn up the heat. His weight holds Bucky still even as he squirms to fuck himself on Steve’s length. Tony’s cock pulses in his mouth, the head bumping Bucky’s soft palate, but he can’t get away even if he tries. He’s held there, immobile, his body nothing but a receptacle for Tony and Steve’s passion. A light shiver runs through him at the thought.

He drags his tongue against the thick vein running up the side of Tony’s cock, loving the way Tony jerks in his mouth. Bucky reaches as far as he can around the girth with his tongue before closing his lips around the base and sucking hard again. He’s so focused on the taste, the weight of Tony’s dick on his tongue, that Steve’s fingers closing around his own throbbing cock come as a surprise.

Bucky keens around the dick stretching his lips. He shifts his hips to shove himself back on Steve’s cock then forward into the tight, rough grip of Steve’s hand. Tony pulls back far enough for him to mouth at the head of his cock, tongue dipping into the slit before flicking against the underside. He wants to pull off, to beg Steve to fuck him harder, to stroke him faster, but he’s stopped by Tony’s hands in his hair. Instead, he relaxes his throat and prepares to swallow Tony again.

Between the music skittering over his nerve endings and the push and pull of Steve and Tony’s bodies, Bucky floats in a haze of sensation. The arc reactor bathes Tony’s stomach in pale light, and the sweat glinting on Tony’s skin transfixes him. He’s so close, orgasm just out of reach, and he squeezes his eyes closed to give himself over to it.

Tony’s thighs go stiff and tense under his palms, and Bucky prepares for the flood of release into his mouth. Overwhelmed as he is by the carnality, he’s confused when it doesn’t come. He looks up at Tony’s face from under his lashes, but Tony’s eyes aren’t lust-blown. Instead, they’re wide and staring at something across the room, over Steve’s shoulder.

“What the fuck?” Tony barks, fingers uncurling to spread protectively over the back of Bucky’s head. “Who the hell are you? How did you get in here? J, what the actual fuck? Lock down the whole floor.” He makes an aborted push at Bucky, pulling back so his dick slips from between Bucky’s lips. Bucky aches for the fullness.

At Tony’s words, Steve jumps into high alert. With no warning, he pulls out, leaving Bucky’s body clenching on the emptiness. He spins into a crouch, shielding Bucky and Tony with his body, jackass that he is. It’s not as if he’s any better prepared to fend off an attack than Tony or Bucky.

His balls aching with the aborted release, Bucky turns, dropping back on his haunches to stare at the man across the room. He’s sprawled on the floor next to a black top hat, his leather pants shoved down his thighs. One hand grasps his half-hard cock, and the evidence on his stomach shows he’s coming down from the high rather than going up.

A mostly naked guy who was obviously jerking off appearing in his bedroom while he’s going at it with his boyfriends should be the weirdest thing about the situation. Being Bucky’s life, though, that’s nowhere near the strangest part. Even weirder, despite his close-cropped hairstyle and the wariness in his expression, the newcomer looks almost identical to the face Bucky sees in the mirror every day... and he’s hot.


	3. Chapter 3

A man is always most honest after a good fuck, or in this case, a good wank. Bucky pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as he studies the newcomer. Emotions flitter unfiltered in his wide, unblinking eyes: astonishment, bewilderment, a hint of bliss, and—after a quick glance from Steve to Tony to himself, all gloriously naked—desire.

The fact that this man could be a threat doesn’t escape Bucky even if his brain is wearing some sex-tinted glasses right now. However, the Winter Soldier part of him, the part that assesses every situation no matter how incapacitated he is, has already deemed the man harmless. Sure, he materialized out of thin air, but after witnessing all the atrocities HYDRA has committed, it’ll take a lot more than teleportation to faze Bucky.

This leaves the part that’s pure Bucky to indulge in the thought of running his tongue across those lips and imagine what it would be like to kiss someone who looks so much like him. It would be like kissing himself…

...Which becomes a short-lived fantasy when his enhanced hearing picks up the whir of machinery even before he catches the glint of gold and red molding to Tony’s outstretched right arm. He whirls around and glares at Tony, a little hurt and definitely annoyed.

“You keep that in my room?”

“What?” Tony glances at Bucky with a shrug. “A necessary precaution. Winter Boy tried to, you know, kill us all when we first moved you in here. I just never got around to removing it.”

“Tony, we talked about this!” Steve hisses.

Bucky grabs Steve’s shoulder and yanks him around, only to have the man not meet his eyes. “Et tu, Stevie?”

“C’mon, Buck, is this really the time?”

“And what do you think he’s gonna do?” Bucky points a metal finger at the stranger. “Fight off Ironman, Captain America, and a killer assassin all with his pants literally around his ankles?” Bucky scoots past Steve to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Don’t _call_ yourself that.” This time Steve demands eye contact as he grips Bucky’s chin and tilts his head back, calloused fingers sliding along Bucky’s jaw to cup his cheek. If Steve thinks he can change how Bucky sees himself with a flutter of his pretty eyelashes, well, it hasn’t worked yet, pal.

“Uh, guys, can we save the staring soulfully into each other’s eyes bit till later?” The bed creaks as Tony hops off and lands lightly on his feet, the repulsor in his glove armed and ready. “When we’re not standing around Free Willy with an alien in the room?”

“Free...what?” Steve’s brows pinch into the slightest of frowns as he turns to look at Tony.

“Free Willy. It’s a movie with a kid and a wha—”

“I’m not an alien,” the stranger says. All eyes turn to stare at the sole reason why Bucky’s balls are the same colour as Steve’s uniform. “I’m 100% human, just like the rest of you.”

“There ain’t nothing quite like us, doll,” Bucky replies dryly. Although the stranger has picked himself off the floor and pulled his pants back up, his shirt still hangs open, the dark, shimmery material a stark contrast to the pale skin glistening with cooled release. “Say, you got a name?”

“Jefferson.” He raises both hands in front of him, palms facing outward, and points a timid finger at Tony. “Can you put that down? It’s a little unnerving.”

When Tony only snorts but doesn’t lower his arm, Bucky makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat and moves to stand in front of the repulsor. “I swear if he tries anything, I’ll kill him.”

“Uh, please don’t? I didn’t mean to interrupt…” Jefferson makes a face that's awkward and embarrassed and amused all at once.

“I’d ask how you got here, but I have a feeling I’m not going to like the answer.” Steve sits on the edge of the bed. To the untrained eye he looks relaxed, but Bucky can feel the tight coil of tension in every twitch of Steve’s muscles. He will bolt off the bed like a human bullet given the smallest provocation.

To think, all that power could be jackhammering Bucky through the mattress right now.

“My hat”—Jefferson bends over to pick up the top hat—“allows me to travel between worlds.”

“Wait, so you’re saying you’re from another _world_?” Tony’s eyes zero in on the hat like a vulture. Jefferson cradles it protectively, as if trying to shield it from Tony’s almost lecherous stare.

“Um. Yes—”

“But not from outer space?” Steve cuts in.

“No—”

“So like parallel universes?” Tony takes several steps toward Jefferson. Or maybe he’s going for the hat.

“I suppose—”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, ain’t nobody gonna get to the point?” Bucky growls. “Did HYDRA do this”—he twirls a finger in Jefferson’s direction—“to you?”

“Hydra? Like the little floaty things?” Jefferson sounds as perplexed as he looks.

“So, you’re not an alien and you’re not HYDRA.” Bucky’s eyes narrow as he drinks in the man standing nervously in front of them. Jefferson is so much like himself, from the lines in the corners of his eyes to the slight dip on the apex of his chin. He’s more slender than Bucky, but if Bucky’s freshly formed memories of those naked thighs are anything to go by, Jefferson is anything but skinny.

Maybe this is what the old Bucky looked like, before the army and the serum and the excruciating torture made him what he is today. Bucky chances a glance at Steve. Now that tension, if not suspicion, has drained from him, it seems as if Steve’s desperately trying to hide the pain of remembrance. He would almost have succeeded, if not for the ghost of his long-lost lover reflected in the blue of his eyes.

“I’m really just a nobody, minding my own business.” Jefferson twists the brim on his hat. “My hat must have malfunctioned. I was...um…” He blushes the way Bucky’s cheeks must burn whenever Tony or Steve has him by the throat, whispering filthy things into his ear.     

Not that he lets them pin him all too often. Only after missions, when Bucky’s need to surrender control exceeds his fear of being restrained.

“You were obviously enjoying yourself,” Bucky coos, “and then you poof into my room and now both my boyfriends’ dicks are limp.” He swallows the distance between them in long strides, and Bucky circles Jefferson like prey. “And I saw you looking. I promise you, they taste even better than they look.”

Bucky stops behind Jefferson. He presses in close, his fingers snaking around Jefferson’s slender waist and dipping into the forgotten mess on Jefferson’s stomach. Jefferson hisses, and his muscles quiver beneath supple skin. “Now, I’ve got an emptiness beggin’ to be filled and a need to get outta my own head,” Bucky whispers, his voice hoarse. Gingerly, he settles his chin on Jefferson’s shoulder as he locks eyes with Steve, then Tony.

Steve gawps while Tony narrows his eyes in...anticipation?

The body that was rigid only a moment ago now melts into Bucky. Jefferson’s shirt is soft and silky against Bucky’s bare chest, and he leans back and turns his head until their lips are a hair’s breadth apart. “You know you look just like me, right?” Jefferson murmurs against Bucky’s mouth, his breath a taste of something sweet and promising on Bucky’s tongue.

“And you know you’re hot as hell, right?”

Bucky’s smirk is swallowed by a smouldering, open-mouthed kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

Regardless of what people might think, Steve wasn’t a virgin when he went into the ice. He may not have had a ton of experience, but he’d been around the block a few times. In the past year, being exposed to Tony’s unique brand of hedonism stretched that experience even farther. But all of that did nothing to prepare him for the scene in front of him.  

Jefferson’s bare chest heaves as he twists into Bucky’s kiss and Steve feels filthy when his cock hardens again just from watching them. Bucky breaks the kiss, ducking his head to mouth against Jefferson’s neck as he trails his fingertips up the other man’s chest. Jefferson trembles when the cool metal of Bucky’s thumb grazes one nipple, and Steve trembles with him.

“What happened to your arm?” Jefferson asks with a shaky breath. Steve winces but recovers before Bucky raises his eyes to meet Steve’s. Bucky has learned to accept that his arm is a part of him, but he still hates talking about it.

There’s a flicker of pain in Bucky’s eyes before he blinks it away. He slides his hand up farther, fingers loosely circling Jefferson’s throat and tipping his head back, before answering. “Got captured during the war and the assholes who had me took it. Gave me this instead.” Bucky squeezes, the metal plates in his arm shifting as the gears whine, and Jefferson shudders.

“I lost something, too,” Jefferson says, reaching up with trembling fingers and tugging at Bucky’s hand. Bucky lets his hand fall away and Steve notices for the first time the angry red scar circling Jefferson’s neck. Bucky’s eyes widen and Tony lets out a soft curse, but Jefferson just shrugs. “‘Off with his head’ doesn’t mean the same thing in Wonderland as I imagine it does in your world.”

As many questions as Steve has, it’s obvious from the way Jefferson’s eyes slide away that he doesn’t want to discuss it any more than Bucky does. The sharing appears to have solidified Bucky’s feelings about the situation, though. With a soft growl, he tightens his hand again and pulls Jefferson back against his chest. Bucky's next words are too low for even Steve’s enhanced hearing to catch, lips grazing Jefferson’s ear as he speaks. Jefferson glances toward Steve, eyes raking up and down Steve’s body before he nods as much as he’s able with his jaw held in Bucky’s grasp.

Bucky grins, his eyes finding Steve’s again with a teasing glint. His right hand creeps forward to dip into the still-undone opening of Jefferson’s tight leather pants, eliciting a shaky moan from the man in his arms. “Look at him, Stevie,” he croons in a husky whisper. “Ain’t he pretty? Get the pomade to slick back his hair and he could be me in 1943.”

Now that Bucky has pointed it out, Steve can’t ignore it. Jefferson is thinner, his muscles more compact than Bucky’s current bulk, but he’s the exact image of Steve’s memories. Steve has gotten used to the way Bucky’s body is now, but he hasn’t forgotten the sensation of those lithe muscles beneath his hands or under his lips. Shame burns in his chest at the way his body responds to this stranger. Steve’s voice cracks when he says, “We don’t know who he is, Buck.” 

The corner of Bucky’s lips twitch up into a smirk and he slips his hand lower until he’s cupping the other man’s cock. Jefferson’s hips thrust forward into the contact. “He ain’t a danger. He’s just a man.” Bucky's hand moves, stroking the length beneath the leather. “A man who’s lonely, Steve. You remember what it’s like to be lonely, don’tcha? To just want someone’s hands on you?” Bucky tips his head so he can nuzzle Jefferson’s cheek, still held immobile. “That’s all you want, right?” he murmurs, tongue darting out to flick against the corner of Jefferson’s mouth. “Just wanna be touched, to pretend you’re not alone for a bit?”

“Yes,” Jefferson breathes. “Please, yes. It’s been so long. I need—” 

“Shhh, I gotcha,” Bucky soothes, the hand on Jefferson’s dick moving faster. “I know what you need. We’re gonna take care of you.” Bucky whispers something else and Jefferson’s eyelids flutter shut. His hips stutter as he thrusts forward into Bucky’s hand and backward against where Steve is sure Bucky’s cock is hard against him. 

Steve wants to disagree, to point out that nothing is okay about this, but he remembers—with absolute clarity—being so lonely he wanted to die. His mouth has gone dry and he can’t tear his eyes away from the bliss on Jefferson’s face.

After a shaky groan, Jefferson licks his lips and opens his eyes. Bucky drops his metal hand from around his throat and steps back, pulling his hand out of the other man’s pants. Together, as if they're two sides of the same coin, they step forward and slide gracefully to their knees in front of Steve. Twin sets of stormy grey eyes gaze up at him, and Steve’s stomach clenches when he realizes how much he wants this. He would give Bucky whatever was in his power to give, but this madness isn’t just for Bucky. God help him, but he wants this stranger.

“He wants to taste you, Stevie,” Bucky says before leaning forward to press a soft kiss against Steve’s mouth. He trails hot, wet kisses across Steve’s jaw and licks Steve’s earlobe before whispering, “It’s okay to want him. I don’t mind. I want him, too. I wanna to see how he looks with his lips stretched around your dick. I always wondered what I look like with my mouth stuffed full of your cock.”

Steve shivers, both at the filthy image Bucky’s words evoke and at Bucky’s breath across his ear. His resolve is weakening, but there’s one more person whose consent matters. Steve glances past Bucky at Tony. He and Bucky aren’t the only people in this relationship, not anymore.

Given what he knows of Tony, he shouldn’t have worried. Tony watches them with unfettered lust while dragging the fingertips of one hand over his cock. Steve knows intimately how good the callouses on Tony’s fingers feel against the sensitive skin. He holds out one hand to Tony and waits until he steps forward before looking back at Jefferson and Bucky. Tony murmurs and the music JARVIS had lowered fills the room again. Steve takes a deep breath, eyes flicking from Jefferson’s face to Bucky’s then back, then nods.  


	5. Chapter 5

Tony wants the music loud and the bass  heavy because only then can he be certain Bucky won't hear the soft clinks of metal when his armour retracts. JARVIS—God bless his artificial soul —boosts just enough juice into the  repulsor to fly the glove back into its hidden compartment beneath Bucky’s bed. He’ll remove it soon, or rather, he’s sure JARVIS will remind him to do so at his “earliest convenience.”

He doesn’t want to think about how life would be without the sassy AI keeping him on task.

The damn song is on repeat, as per Bucky’s request, because tonight is Bucky’s night. Because missions like the one they just had always hit Bucky where it hurts. Tony knows, more than anyone, how terrifying it is to place his fate in the hands of something outside his control. Every time the Winter Soldier  makes an appearance,  a bit of Bucky seems to disappear. 

Between Steve’s unwavering loyalty and Tony’s ability to chatter until the Winter Soldier retreats into the dark corners of Bucky’s mind (to  retain a shred of sanity no doubt), they always  manage to  retrieve all the missing pieces.

Oh, and sex,  of course,  because nothing drives home the point that Bucky’s more than a mindless killer cyborg than being pounded through the mattress by the embodiment of all  that is good in America and the world’s mouthiest philanthropist.  Figuratively  and that one time, literally ; super-soldiers can be so hard on the furniture.

Which brings Tony back to the bizarre situation unfolding in the form of a stranger flying out of a hat (he  _ will _ get his hands on that hat; in fact, he’s already got JARVIS running preliminary scans and diagnostics on the makeup and material). And Bucky salivating at the thought of fucking his own  doppelganger . He can  hardly  fault Bucky. Jefferson is stunning in every way Bucky is. Only slimmer, less metal, and  infinitely  sadder. 

That someone can out-sad a 98-year-old POW is  an extremely  depressing thought  that  Tony will allow himself to dwell on later. Right now, Steve is extending a hand like an olive branch, and Tony would not be the genius he believes himself to be if he ignored the gesture. Steve always includes him, no matter the circumstances. 

His fingers curl around Steve’s and he feels the barely suppressed tremor there. Tony folds himself neatly against Steve’s side, his body molding to Steve’s hard lines and tense muscles. Tony’s lips take over where Bucky’s left off; the train of Bucky’s kisses left Steve’s skin damp and cool to the touch. Tony dots his lips along Steve’s jaw, chasing the faint taste of Bucky until he’s retraced those kisses and found himself back at the corner of Steve’s mouth. 

Tony glances down and forgets how to breathe when two pairs of lust blown blue-grey eyes look up at him through thick eyelashes. 

Bucky on the right, Jefferson left, twin faces turned into  distinctively  unique visages by their  vastly  different expressions. There’s a wickedness about Bucky that makes him hot as sin, and in contrast, Jefferson’s uncertainty and undisguised need to please leave Tony with an undeniable desire to dirty him up. 

Dirty him up?  God, he’s  _ got _ to  lay off the Japanese cartoon porn. 

Steve nips at his bottom lip, and Tony halts the bullet train that is his brain for a moment to cover Steve’s mouth with a lazy kiss. He swallows a moan that isn’t his, then a hiss, and  grins against moist, plump lips when Steve’s blunt fingernails dig into Tony’s hand. The man  is trembling— _ vibrating— _ and when Tony chances another look down the plain of Steve’s chest he can’t help but use Steve’s mouth to muffle his own whimper. 

Two metal fingers slip between Jefferson’s lips and scissor as if preparing his mouth for something much bigger. Bucky’s eyes flick between Tony’s and Steve’s as his flesh hand pushes against the inside  of  Steve’s thigh to spread him wide, then Jefferson and Bucky slot in like they belong there. 

Saliva drips from the corners of Jefferson’s mouth, his tongue tangled up in all that metal. There is a hunger there that Tony knows only too well, and when Bucky  finally  pulls his fingers away, Jefferson all but gorges himself on Steve’s cock. 

Bucky leans in close, his eyes glued to the obscene stretch of Jefferson’s lips around Steve’s dick as he whispers into Jefferson’s ear. Tony can’t hear the words over the music, but he  knows the filth Bucky  is capable of uttering when he’s  really  turned on. Metal fingers reach up to wrap  tightly  around the base of Steve’s cock and cradle his balls. Either the grip or the cold (or both) shock Steve and his hips buck up, shoving more of his cock into Jefferson’s mouth. Jefferson sputters and coughs as tears well up in the corners of his eyes. 

“S-shit, I’m sorry! Buck!” Steve whines through gritted teeth, the sternness of his words lost in a puff of stuttering breath when Jefferson recovers and swallows him down to the hilt again. Tony swallows when Jefferson looks up, his nose nudging into Steve’s blonde curls, his lashes wet with unshed tears. The man looks  positively blissed out, and Tony knows  exactly  how he feels. 

There is a flash of white-hot pain where Steve’s hand finds Tony’s thigh, and his fingers dig into flesh as if Tony’s leg is the anchor that keeps Steve from floating off into outer space. Because Bucky is winding his fingers around a fistful of Jefferson’s hair to guide his head up and down while looking up at them with liquid fire in his eyes. Because just when Steve looks like he’s settling into the rhythm, Bucky darts in as Jefferson pulls back—with only the head of Steve’s arousal between his lips—and wraps his tongue around Steve’s cock as if to taste the inside  of  Jefferson’s mouth on Steve's skin. 

And if that isn’t a sight to turn Tony right back into a horny teenager with a hair trigger release. With that thought in mind, Tony reaches down to give the base of his straining cock a good, firm squeeze. How Steve is still hanging on is beyond Tony. It must be that goddamn super-soldier serum. 

Maybe he wants to distract Steve, or maybe he  simply  doesn’t want to  be outdone , but Tony  pointedly  ignores the filthy display of tongues and lips and Steve’s glistening cock. Instead, he snakes one arm around Steve’s torso—his fingers ghosting along the expanse of Steve’s back and side—to find a nipple and pinches. Hard. Steve shouts, his string of obscenities swallowed by the unchaste lyrics of the song filling the spacious room.

“Ah, language, Cap,” Tony gloats  softly  into Steve’s ear, his lips chasing his words to kiss along the lobe and down to the velvet patch along Steve’s chiseled jaw. Steve turns his stormy blue eyes on Tony, but the glare lacks its usual Captain-America-is-disappointed-in-you luster when Tony’s teeth sink into his shoulder. 


	6. Chapter 6

For the first time in years, Jefferson’s mind is quiet. There are no regrets or recriminations, no what-could-have-beens. There’s only the hot, hard length between his lips and the strong fingers tangled in his hair, the grip skirting the edge between pleasure and pain. Steve cants his hips every time Bucky pushes down, shoving Steve's cock far enough into Jefferson’s throat to cut off his air. Those fleeting moments of absolute stillness are a special kind of bliss. Before long, he’s floating, caught in the filthy push and pull of their passion.

His fingers twitch with the urge to cross his wrists at the small of his back, but the still cognizant part of his brain doesn't want to give away that much power. Instead, he raises one hand to circle Steve’s bare calf, the warm skin an anchor point. The other clenches into a fist in his lap, brushing against his dick through his pants, and it hardens again despite finding an unsatisfying release not long ago.

The fingers in his hair tighten, bringing fresh tears to the wetness seeping from beneath his closed eyelids. Bucky pulls him back far enough to dart in and lick along the seam of his mouth. He suckles at the head of Steve’s dick where it still rests between Jefferson’s lips. His soft hair brushes Jefferson’s cheek, contrasting with the rasp of his stubble as Bucky leans away again. The salty tang of pre-come coats his tongue and he hauls in a deep breath before Bucky shoves him down, choking him on Steve’s cock again.

“Look at him, Stevie,” Bucky growls, the sound a low rasp that skitters up Jefferson’s spine. He looks up to see Steve’s eyes clenched shut and his hands gripping his thighs so hard the skin dimples white around his fingertips. Tony leans forward from where he’s kneeling on the bed behind Steve, hands teasing over Steve’s chest before rolling swollen nipples between his fingers. Steve keens, face still scrunched up until Bucky raises his hand to run flesh fingertips across his eyelids. “Open your eyes, baby,” he coaxes. “He looks so fucking good takin’ your dick. See what a good boy he is? He wants it so bad.”

Steve’s eyelids flutter open until he’s staring down at Jefferson. He flicks his gaze between Bucky and Jefferson, then gives a shaky nod. “You’re doin’ so good for me, Jefferson,” he says, voice rough but firm. The knowledge that Steve sees him as himself, and not as a stand-in for Bucky, explodes little fireworks in Jefferson’s chest.

Jefferson bobs his head, sucking and licking as much of Steve’s cock as he can reach with each shallow thrust, wanting so badly to please him. When the intensity of Steve's gaze becomes too much, Jefferson’s eyes skitter away, and he sinks back into the dark, empty bliss. Bucky pushes him down again, and he tries to relax his throat, but too soon he’s pulled back up so Steve’s dick slips from between his lips. He whines at the loss, too far gone to be ashamed of the weak sound, but then a big, warm hand cups his cheek and tilts his head.

“Look at me,” Steve orders gruffly, tapping on Jefferson’s jaw until he raises his eyes to the wild, lust-blown gaze. “Keep your eyes right here.” Tony licks and sucks at Steve’s neck, his body rocking against Steve’s back in jerky thrusts, but Steve is all Jefferson sees.

With something like reverence, but certainly gratitude, Jefferson stares up at him. Steve’s cock smears back and forth against Jefferson’s lips, but not even the filthy sound of Bucky stroking him can pull Jefferson’s attention away. He’s so caught up he doesn’t register the reason for the harsh, guttural noise. It isn’t until the first warm splash hits his face that he realizes Steve is coming, his release coating Jefferson’s lips, nose, and cheeks with every spurt.

Steve’s eyes are wide and he pants, open-mouthed, through his orgasm, but he doesn’t break eye-contact with Jefferson. Jefferson dimly registers Bucky spewing rough, obscene encouragement as he works Steve through his climax, but the words are an unintelligible rumble beneath the ringing in Jefferson’s ears.

Finally, Steve slumps forward, chest heaving. He shifts his gaze only when Bucky darts forward to run his tongue over Jefferson’s face, lapping up Steve’s release before Jefferson can flick out his tongue to taste it. Jefferson tries not to sigh in disappointment. As if he knows what Jefferson is thinking, Bucky captures his mouth, using his tongue to push the gathered spunk between Jefferson’s lips. Jefferson sucks at it greedily until Bucky pulls away, rocking back on his heels with a self-satisfied smirk.

The only sounds in the room are their ragged breathing. After several long moments, Tony offers with mild annoyance, “So, that was fucking hot, but someone promised me a dick in my ass tonight.”


	7. Chapter 7

If there is one thing Tony is sure of—apart from his above average IQ and his penchant for extreme sarcasm—it is that he must always  demand for the spotlight. Every calculated move in the game of chess that is Tony’s life is to maneuver him from the colossal shadow left by his father. Of course, chess is also a game of chance, and that is how Tony ended up in bed with two super–soldiers and a dude who fell out of a hat. A little maneuvering, and a boatload of luck. 

Steve and Bucky are like magnets. Even after 70 odd years of frigid separation and, in Bucky’s case, extreme torture and brainwashing, they still found their way back into each other’s arms. Tony is the variable in their love equation, something he has long since come to terms with. 

The bed shifts when Bucky pushes Steve—chest still heaving—out of the way and gets all up in Tony’s personal space. “Yeah? And who promised you that?” Bucky’s lips brush against Tony’s like a challenge, daring him to close the infinitesimal gap between them with a searing kiss.

“You,” Tony says and nips at Bucky’s bottom lip. “And Captain Granite over there.” Tony nods in Steve’s direction. He doesn’t need to look to know Steve’s probably blushing from head to toe, or to his shoulders at least, because Captain America can be really fucking adorable when he’s not being a stickler about bad language. 

“Which one of us do you want?” Bucky crowds into Tony, pushing him back with the sheer force of his salacious gaze until Tony’s scooted to the middle of the bed. He ponders his choices, but the way Bucky’s tongue sweeps along his lips suggests it might be a rhetorical question. Tony knows he’s a genius, but how he’s currently being out-maneuvered by someone a couple years short of a century old is beyond him. 

Bucky crawls over him so Tony’s tucked neatly inside Bucky’s looming shadow, and when Bucky noses into the crook of his neck, Tony flicks his gaze over Bucky’s shoulder. Steve sits on the edge of the bed, his torso twisted, and his blue eyes glow as he watches Bucky stalk his prey. Jefferson still kneels by Steve’s feet, his expression blissfully blank as Steve’s fingers comb through his hair. Tony follows those elegant fingers, his own scalp tingling with remembered pleasure. 

“How about both?” Bucky whispers, his breath tickling even as his teeth graze sharply against Tony’s fluttering pulse. It wouldn’t be the first time Tony played creamy center to this Golden Oreo™, and the thought of being fucked open and sheathed in the heat of a tight body at the same time shoots a jolt straight to his dick. 

“Oh, well, if I must”—because Tony doesn’t actually know how to turn off all this sass—“you twisted my arm.” 

The way Bucky growls should terrify Tony, but in the bedroom where they’re all naked and vulnerable, it only makes Tony’s cock twitch and leak that much more. Bucky never growls at Steve. In fact, most of the time he’s down right meek when Steve’s got his bear paws on him. But with Tony, he lets a different side of himself surface. As if the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes somehow melded and found  middle ground. 

Tony hisses, his back arching as cold metal circles his waist. Metal fingers dig into soft flesh, and with an effortless display of graceful athleticism, Tony finds himself staring down at sparkling winter–blue eyes, his knees sinking into the soft mattress on either side of Bucky’s hips. Being manhandled by Bucky has long ceased to be emasculating. If anything, Tony considers it a perk of sleeping with someone with superhuman strength. 

Large, tender hands land on Tony’s shoulders, strong fingers kneading and prodding every inch of him until Tony is a boneless heap. Bucky’s lips trail wet little kisses while Steve conjures up some strawberry scented lube. 

There’s a level of synchrony between Steve and Bucky that’s uncanny. Bucky’s tongue licks into Tony’s mouth in time with Steve’s fingers—hot and thick and dear God, there’s a third pushing in—stroking his insides. With every curl of fingers and every thrust of tongue, they scoop out a little more of Tony until there is nothing of himself left. It should scare him (a lot of things with these two should scare him) how easily he can lose himself sandwiched between Steve and Bucky, but Tony likes this blank version of himself; he likes the quiet in his head. 

Steve is being extra thorough with stretching him, just as he took extra time to relax him. Normal Tony, the one who’s not drunk on overwhelming sensations, would have asked questions, but right now he just wants to feel. He pushes back, his voice a quivering keen when Steve’s fingers sink deeper into him, stretching him and filling him until he’s overflowing. And Bucky is right here, his hands cupping Tony’s cheeks as he laps up every whimper escaping Tony’s lips.

Vaguely, Tony wonders if Steve is preparing Bucky too. The delicious mental image of Bucky lewdly spread as Steve finger–fucks him is interrupted by a pair of hands lifting his hips and pushing him down until Tony’s hole is closing around the hard shaft of Bucky’s cock. The burn of the stretch is a pain Tony craves. A beautiful flame he can never resist. Bucky moves beneath him, his hips snapping upwards in sharp, precise thrusts. Bucky’s hands are on him, one flesh, one metal, both digging into Tony’s thighs as he holds Tony still, a prisoner trapped between an expanse of bulging muscles and—

“Oh, fuck—” Tony cries out in shock, his arms turning to jello as he slumps forward. “Fuck fuck fuck , Steve is that your—”

“Just a finger,” Steve chuckles. Underneath the teasing tone is  thinly veiled and barely controlled arousal. All of which is lost on Tony as every nerve ending leading to his brain short–circuits. Steve’s finger—more slick than ever with what must be a whole bottle of lube—hitches a ride on Bucky’s next upward thrust and pushes into Tony. It shouldn’t feel as effortless as it does, but his body accepts Steve, eager and greedy. 

“J–Jesus, Steve, did Banner blast your finger with gamma radiation too?” Tony blurts. 

“Very funny, Tony.” Steve’s words end in a drawn-out  moan when Tony clenches experimentally. He draws a sharp breath and mutters on the exhale, “So hot and tight for me, for us. You’re always so good for us.” 

Tony preens under the shower of praise. 

“You’re  gonna take us both,” Bucky says in the pause between two laboured breaths. His lips part as if to say something else, but his jaw clenches with the twitch of a muscle, and his next thrust has Tony seeing stars. 

It isn’t so much Bucky’s words that give Tony pause, but rather what he doesn’t say.  The  _ I _ _ love you _ ’s and  _ I need you _ ’s bleed through the protective grip around Tony’s thighs and the extra tilt in Bucky’s hips as his cock brushes against Tony’s prostate with a sniper’s precision. 

Fireworks go off inside Tony’s head, or maybe he hit it a little too hard on the headboard, and his breath hitches when Steve’s cock pushes past his ring of already abused muscle. Bucky’s breath is a harsh whisper against his neck. Behind him, Steve mutters strings of obscenities Tony is definitely storing away as ammunition. For later. Right now, it is taking Tony what little self control he has to not spontaneously combust when Steve and Bucky finally start to move. 

Together. 

And if that isn’t the most breathtaking thing that’s ever happened to him.     


	8. Chapter 8

Bucky slams his head against the pillow and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to focus on not coming too soon. The heat of Tony’s body molded around him combined with the intense pressure of Steve’s cock grinding against his inside Tony is almost more than he can take. Pinned by their weight, he has zero leverage. He can only lay back and let it happen.

At the broken whimper above him, Bucky’s eyes snap open to focus on Tony’s face. Eyes wild and hair matted with sweat, Tony’s mouth gapes open as he draws in huge gasps of air each time Steve moves. He’s never looked more beautiful.

Tony’s hands curl into claws where he braces himself on Bucky’s chest. His cock slides against the ridges of Bucky’s abdomen with each of Steve’s thrusts, smearing pre-come with the slick sheen of sweat. Having Tony like this is something Bucky cherishes though he could never put it into words. This thing between them is different for Tony than for him and Steve. There’s no doubt they would go to the ends of the earth for each other, no need to prove themselves or their bond. For Tony, there has always been a tiny seed of doubt that maybe he doesn’t mean as much to them as they mean to each other. 

Bucky worries that niggling fear will always be there. If it takes doing this every day for the rest of their lives to prove to Tony that he’s needed, wanted, then Bucky has no qualms about doing it.

He sneaks one hand between their bodies and grips Tony’s cock, loving how Tony’s eyes roll back in his head when he gives it a firm squeeze. “Fuck, Tony, you feel so fucking good. So good for us,” he bites out, breath stuttering when Steve’s cock head catches on his. He raises his metal hand to cup the back of Tony’s neck, forcing him into a wet, sloppy kiss. Bucky releases him so he can pull back a few millimeters and pants against his lips, “You feel how full you are? You were made for us, Tony.”

A movement to his left draws his attention away from the lust blown depths of Tony’s eyes. Bucky watches as Steve grabs his doppelgänger’s arm to pull Jefferson against his side even as he continues to move inside Tony. Jefferson melts against him, letting himself be ravaged by Steve’s mouth. Steve murmurs something against Jefferson’s lips and flicks his eyes down. Bucky can’t catch the words over Tony’s hoarse moans, but Jefferson’s eyes widen. Jefferson’s arm moves just before tentative fingers trace the base of Bucky’s cock and around Tony’s hole. The last time they did this he was in Steve’s position, so Bucky knows firsthand how gorgeous Tony looks stretched around them. 

“He can take it,” Steve says louder, eyes hazy with need tracing over Jefferson’s face. Steve reaches up to curl one big hand around Tony’s throat, forcing his back to bow as he’s drawn upright and increasing the grinding pressure. Tony lets out a broken rasp of air that might have been a moan if his vocal cords weren’t so abused. Steve’s gaze stays fastened on Jefferson even as his lips brush Tony’s ear. “Isn’t that right, Tony? You can take whatever we give you. You can take even more than this, can’t you?”

At first Tony doesn’t respond, just closes his eyes and shudders in Steve’s grasp, but Steve tightens his fingers and barks, “I asked you a question, Tony. You can take more, right? We can’t give it to you unless you answer me.”

Tony wheezes a sob and his cheeks glisten with tears. For a moment, Bucky’s heart freezes, and then Tony gasps, “Yes, please, Steve, please. I can take more. Whatever, please. I want more.”

Steve nods curtly and releases his hold on Tony’s throat, letting him collapse against Bucky’s chest. Bucky wraps the arm that isn’t still gripping Tony’s dick around his back, and murmurs against Tony’s cheek, “I got you, baby. You’re doing so good. Just a little more. Whatever Stevie’s got in mind, I know you can take it.” The salt of Tony’s tears stings Bucky’s lips.

A hand on Bucky’s shoulder where the scar tissue bunches around the metal socket makes him raise his head. Jefferson stands beside them, his swollen cock held in one hand. While Bucky’s attention was on Tony, Jefferson had stripped off his clothes. Bucky is struck again by how much the guy resembles him from before the war. The most obvious difference is the hesitant, submissive look in the other man’s eyes. While Bucky had gotten a thrill out of letting Steve push him around during those brief months when Steve was stronger, he’d never thought of it as submitting. Despite what Hydra had tried to make him believe, submission has never been in his nature. 

“Go ahead, Buck,” Steve says, rocking his hips forward again and making Bucky see stars. “Show them what to do.” It takes a moment for Bucky’s vision to clear, but he doesn’t realize what Steve wants until he focuses on Tony’s flushed face. Tony licks his lips, his eyes pinned on Jefferson’s cock, and Bucky smiles. Stevie always has the best ideas.

Bucky wraps one hand around the back of Jefferson’s thigh to draw him closer and watches as he guides the head of his dick to Tony’s lips. “There it is, doll. You want his dick, don’t you?” Bucky murmurs, pulling his hand back to brush against Tony’s cheek. He slots two fingers into Tony’s mouth, pulling his lips apart for Jefferson to push inside. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Choke on his cock.”

Tony and Jefferson both exhale on a shaky moan, Tony’s muffled around Jefferson’s length. For a moment, Jefferson doesn’t move. He looks at Tony with wide eyes until Bucky grabs his ass, rocking him forward and sliding his cock the rest of the way down Tony’s throat. There’s a second of frantic gagging, and then Tony relaxes so Jefferson can draw back and thrust in again. 

Everything after that is a blur of heat and movement. At some point, Bucky takes Jefferson’s hand and places it on Tony’s head. It takes a few moments for Jefferson to work up the nerve, but soon he’s grasping Tony’s hair, fucking his mouth with long, steady thrusts. Bucky turns his attention back to Tony’s dick, stroking it in earnest and letting his thumb play over the head with each glide of his hand.

“That’s it, doll. Never letting you go. No one else can give you this, the same way no one could give us everything you do. You’re perfect for us, Tony. Everything we want. Come on, doll, come for me. Cover me in it. Let the whole world see I belong to you just as much as you belong to me.” Bucky isn’t even sure what he’s saying anymore. He’s just spewing whatever reassurances and endearments he can as he drives Tony closer to the edge. 

Given that he just came, Steve is likely to hold out longer than any of them. Bucky knows he will take care of them, so he lets himself go. Tingling heat sweeps over him and he plants his feet on the bed to give whatever tiny, aborted thrusts he can with Tony and Steve pinning him. “Come on, Tony. You first. I’m not gonna blow until you do.” 

Bucky squeezes again, shifting his fingers up to circle the head of Tony’s dick just as it starts to pulse in his hand. Tony’s whole body goes rigid and Jefferson lets go, stepping back so his dick slips from Tony’s lips. Tony’s eyes snap up to Bucky’s as he shakes, his ass squeezing around them, and his cock pumps out spurt after spurt. His release covers Bucky’s chest in a sticky mess.

Finally, the crest breaks and Bucky’s vision goes white hot as his orgasm washes over him. He only registers Steve still shoving into Tony from the bottom of the bed when searing wetness mingles with his inside Tony. Steve gives a few feeble thrusts, his movements forcing the come out of Tony and sending it dripping over Bucky’s balls. With a quiet groan, Steve stills and collapses against Tony’s back.

Even after all that, Tony is still the first to come back to himself. He shifts and rasps out, “I’m feeling the love, boys, but my ass is fucking killing me. Can we move this party to a more comfortable position so I can pass out for a couple days?”

Bucky holds his breath as Steve pulls out first, soothing Tony with a gentle hand on the side of his face when he winces. He helps support Tony’s weight as Steve lifts him off Bucky, then settles him on his side on the bed, Steve’s big body curled around his back. Tony sighs and relaxes against him, as near to content as Bucky has ever seen. Bucky is ready to roll over toward them when he registers Jefferson standing a few feet from the bed. His eyes are downcast as if he doesn’t want to disturb their post-coital bliss, and something in the slumped set of his shoulder makes Bucky’s chest hurt. “Come here,” he says, reaching out his metal hand. 

Jefferson looks up as if he isn’t sure Bucky is talking to him, and Bucky needs to wiggle his fingers a few times before Jefferson steps forward. He winds his hand around Jefferson’s thighs and pulls him forward until his dick presses against Bucky’s lips, his eyes never leaving Jefferson’s. Jefferson hauls in a shaky breath when Bucky parts his lips and lets his cock slip into the wet heat. Bucky can tell he’s close by the coiled tension of Jefferson’s legs, so he dips his tongue into the slit to taste him before swallowing his dick. He hollows his cheeks, and it only takes a few strong pulls before Jefferson is spilling down his throat with a sharp cry. 

Bucky swallows and reaches up to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand. “Guess that’s as close as I’m ever gonna get to suckin’ myself off,” he says with a wink. Jefferson’s eyes widen even further and he looks as though he’s ready to bolt, so Bucky grabs his hand and pulls him onto the mattress next to him. It’s a good thing Tony is a hedonist because nothing short of his California king could hold four grown (and somewhat overgrown) men. He wraps one arm around Jefferson’s back and tugs him in until he’s sprawled against Bucky’s side. “Nap time first. Then we’ll figure out this fuckery. Deal?”

Jefferson tenses for a moment then relaxes against Bucky with a nod.


	9. Chapter 9

Jefferson blinks as the room comes into focus. He sits up, silk sheets sliding down his naked chest to pool in the crease of his hips, and stares at the empty expanse of the biggest bed he’s ever seen. Dust motes swirl lazily in a spear of sunlight, and Jefferson can just make out the clear blue sky in the gap between the curtains. 

His head feels big like his brain is pushing against his skull, and his skin is stretched way too tight. Everything itches just below the surface, unreachable. Jefferson pulls back the sheets and takes a moment to remember where he is (he has no clue) and why he’s naked. He crawls off the bed and rummages through haphazard piles of discarded clothes until he finds his leather pants beneath—Jesus, how many knives are strapped to that  kevlar vest? 

The door is cracked open just enough that Jefferson can make out  soft , garbled voices. Someone laughs, a deep, throaty sound that settles the tremor in his hands long enough for him to button his pants. He remembers that voice from the night before; it was huskier and a lot more commanding. 

Segments from the previous night flash through his head, each scene triggering the next until a full-length feature film of his involvement with three extremely attractive men flames his cheeks. Those men were reckless, dangerous, and demanding. Yet there was beauty in all that hardness, a tenderness born of love that sucked Jefferson in even as he watched in awe from the outside. 

He’s always the outsider looking in A voyeur into other people’s happiness. He did it with Grace, and now he’s doing it with these strangers. 

Jefferson looks around the room and gives up any hope of finding his shirt, which is probably buried under an army’s worth of tactical gear. The voices tug at him, and he yearns to join them in laughter, to be a part of.. . something. He picks his way to the door and pushes into the brightly lit hallway, stopping to stare at paintings of abstract shapes and translucent watercolours that adorn the walls. Beneath his bare feet, the smooth surface of the hardwood floor gleams of wealth. 

He shouldn’t be here. 

Shouldn’t have let the man with his face touch him like he did. Shouldn’t have dropped to his knees and put his mouth around the most perfect, most delicious cock he’s ever tasted. A better man would have apologized for intruding on something that was obviously  very private, then left without a backward glance. But he’s not a better man, not even a good man, and he let his desperation overcome good sense. Now he’s gone and ruined yet another beautiful thing, stained it just by being near it. 

Jefferson’s rooted to the floor, fingernails digging into sweaty palms as he struggles for air. Lingering contentment from the night before evaporates, leaving him drained, exhausted, and disoriented. He yearns for the grounding warmth of large hands in his hair, but he doesn’t deserve it. Doesn’t deserve to be treated like anything special. 

The voices grow more distant, the warmth draining from them until they’re cold as ice. What are they talking about? Are they trying to figure out how to get rid of this strange man that popped out of a hat? Where is his hat? Jefferson is faintly aware of his knees shifting on the hard floor, his palms smearing sweat onto expensive wood. 

The itching beneath his skin worsens, and irritation flares in his gut. He pushes himself up, his feet carrying him down the corridor, and he finds the three men seated comfortably in a white leather couch. They’re laughing again, but the sound trails off when all three pairs of eyes turn to him. 

“Where’s my hat?” He’s voice echoes, the sound harsher than he intended. 

“Good morning to you t—”

“Tony,” Steve chides, his voice gentle but stern. “Your hat is safe. Tony wanted to take a look. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he grits. His blood is boiling and he wants to pick at his skin like a giant scab. His eyes dart around the room, and the glint of the third man’s metal arm triggers something. Jefferson reaches up and touches the scar around his neck as his eyes trace the puckered flesh disappearing beneath the edge of gleaming metal. His breathing slows, his chest no longer heaving as if he’s running a marathon. Anger—so swift and scorching—drains out of him with each breath, leaving behind nothing but a trembling shell.   

All three men are staring at him, their frowns mirror images of each other. 

“Tony, why don’t you go get Jefferson his hat,” Steve suggests in that same low, gentle tone, his eyes never leaving Jefferson. “And Buck, can you get me a glass of water?” 

Jefferson watches the two men get up but hardly notices their absence. He wants to feel Steve’s large hand carding through his hair, wants that comforting weight resting on the back of his neck. He wants to feel as grounded and sure as he did last night when they showed him perfect harmony. 

He wants so many things, but Steve isn’t his to want. Just like the jewels and treasures he stole weren’t his to have. His greed destroyed his love and left his daughter without a mother. That same greed will cost these men their happiness too, and that’s a burden Jefferson doesn’t want to bear. 

A gentle hand lands on his shoulder and his hat appears in his arms. Jefferson’s fingers tighten around the soft, worn material, and he wishes himself home. The hat remains motionless. Jefferson’s heart sinks with dread. Does this world not have magic? 

“Jefferson?” Steve’s voice is incredibly gentle as his fingers grip Jefferson’s shoulders. When did Steve get up, and how did he get so close without Jefferson noticing? “Why don’t you come and sit with us?” The hands he so desperately wanted are weighing him down, pinning him. He shrinks in on himself, his hat clutched tightly to his chest, and doesn’t dare look up lest the disappointment etched on Steve’s face breaks him further. 

Steve’s muscular chest rises and falls with his every breath, and when Steve pulls Jefferson against him, the ground stops shifting. Steve is solid, his heartbeat a rhythmic thud that calms the roaring in Jefferson’s ears. He doesn’t deserve this tenderness, doesn’t deserve the soothing scrape of fingernails against his scalp and the sweet nothings whispered into his hair. 

He doesn’t deserve to be held and cherished, but Jefferson is so tired of fighting, so he lets Steve gather him into those strong, gentle arms, and buries his face into the crook of Steve’s neck as the floodgates open. 


	10. Chapter 10

All Steve has ever wanted is to do the right thing. Sometimes that thing is more difficult than others, especially when it involves taking care of people. He can break through an enemy line or plan a rescue mission, but taking care of people requires more finesse than he often feels capable of. Just look at how often he’s failed Bucky.

The man sobbing into his shoulder—for all that he’s a stranger—rouses Steve’s protective instincts. It might be because he’s so similar to Bucky, but Steve feels as if it’s more than that. He’s out of his depth, but he knows he needs to do this. Steve gathers Jefferson against him and lets him cry, his body shaking with the strength of his sobs. Steve runs his hands over the other man’s  back and smooths damp hair away from his temple. “It’s okay. Let it out,” he murmurs, the words meaningless noise to fill the silence. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Tears soak through the collar of Steve’s shirt, and Jefferson continues to cry like his heart is breaking. He’s shaking, shivering, and Steve wraps his arms more firmly around him. Steve has seen this before. Shell-shocked men—boys really—who held it together on the battlefield but collapsed when the wild high of adrenaline wore off. They cried for their mothers or the girls they left back home, and some got so worked up they made themselves sick.

Back then, it was Bucky who took care of them. Bucky who threw his arm over their shoulders and asked about the little towns they came from. He got them sips of water and talked to them in a low, gentle voice until they calmed down. Steve had never known how he did it.

But Bucky is in no shape to handle Jefferson now. Hell, on a good day, it’s Steve who is murmuring reassurances and pushing Bucky’s tangled hair out of his eyes. Bucky puts up a good front, but he’s still holding on to himself by his fingertips. When Steve looks up, Bucky is standing a few feet away with the glass of water. His eyes are wide and he looks scared of whatever is happening here. Maybe he remembers those boys in the war, but it could also be the sight of Steve holding someone who looks so much like him.

Nothing lasts forever, though, and eventually, Jefferson’s sobs weaken to soft whimpers and shaky hiccups. Steve knows the moment he comes back to himself, because the muscles that had gone lax with the emotional outpouring, lock up again. Jefferson pulls away, making small embarrassed noises, but Steve tightens his grip. He spreads one hand on the back of Jefferson’s head, letting the pressure hold him so he can hide in Steve’s shoulder and keep his pride.

“It’s okay,” he whispers into Jefferson’s hair. “I’ve got you if you’ll let me.” When Jefferson doesn’t fight to pull away, Steve takes it as permission. He shifts, bending to put one arm behind Jefferson’s knees and the other braced around his back, and stands. Where Bucky is bulky with muscle, Jefferson is lean and compact. Steve lifts him as if he weighs nothing and carries him to the couch, sinking down and settling him across his lap. Jefferson continues to make soft snuffling noises against Steve’s shoulder, and the fine tremors of his body continue.

There’s movement to their right and Steve looks up to find Tony holding a blanket out to him. Steve nods and reaches for the hat Jefferson has in a  death grip . “I’ll sit your hat on the table, okay? No one will take it and it will be right here when you want it.” Jefferson whimpers again, but his fingers uncurl from where he is crushing the stiff fabric. Steve hands the hat to Tony, who places it on the table with barely a hint of avarice in his gaze. Tony shakes out the blanket and settles it over them.

When Jefferson doesn’t struggle or try to pull away, Steve looks up to meet the other men’s eyes. “I want Tony and Bucky to come sit with us, okay? They won’t touch you if you don’t want them to, but it would be nice for them to be here with us.”

Jefferson doesn’t respond. Steve is ready to ask again when Jefferson finally nods and picks his head up to press warm, dry lips to Steve’s neck. “It’s, ah,” Jefferson starts, his voice a rough rasp. “It’s okay.”

Tony settles in the space to Steve’s right, resting one hand on Jefferson’s flank. At the touch, Jefferson shudders, but he settles again when Tony starts to rub small, gentle circles on his hip over the blanket. Tony’s eyes are as soft and warm as they are when he soothes Steve or Bucky after a nightmare.

Steve turns his head to find Bucky holding out the glass of water to him. He looks like he wants to bolt. While Bucky has gotten better at tolerating emotional vulnerability, especially with Steve or Tony, he’s still uncomfortable around people he doesn’t know well. When Steve lifts his chin in a beckoning gesture, though, Bucky blows out a long breath and settles into the space to their left. He leans to press a kiss to the top of Jefferson’s head and cups his flesh hand around the back of Jefferson’s neck. Jefferson still seems dazed, but he arches almost imperceptibly into the touch.  

“Jefferson,” Steve murmurs. “I want you to take a sip of water, okay? You don’t have to move; you can stay right here with us. I just want you to take a drink.”

Jefferson is quicker to respond this time. He coughs weakly, then lets Steve tilt the glass to his lips while Bucky supports his head with a hand on the back of his neck. After swallowing, he leans back, but when Steve tilts the glass again, he accepts another few sips. Satisfied, Steve lets him curl back against his chest and tuck his face against Steve’s neck once again.

With one arm supporting Jefferson’s weight and the other holding the glass, Steve can’t run a soothing hand over Jefferson’s body the way he’d like. It’s okay, though, because Bucky and Tony are doing what he can’t. Bucky plays with the short curls at Jefferson’s nape, and Tony tucks into Steve’s side so he can shift Jefferson’s legs to lay across his own lap.

Steve isn’t sure how much time passes, but the trembling fades until finally, Jefferson raises his head away from Steve’s neck. His eyes are bloodshot and crusted with dried tears, and his expression is sheepish. “I’m sorry,” he says, but it comes out as a croak.

“Nothin g to be sorry about,” Steve cuts him off, shaking his head. “Everybody’s got a right to get overwhelmed. No shame in that.”

Jefferson nods even though his eyes say he doesn’t believe Steve, and he worries at his bottom lip with his teeth.

“But we do  gotta talk about it,” Steve says. When Jefferson’s eyes widen again, Steve rushes to reassure him. “We can just sit here a while longer. This is real nice, but when you’re ready we’re gonna talk about what happened last night and what happened just now. Okay?”

Steve watches Jefferson’s eyes, winter-grey and so similar to those of the man propped just behind him. Bucky isn’t looking at Jefferson—he’s studying Steve—but he hasn’t stopped combing his fingers through Jefferson’s short hair. Steve senses when Jefferson decides. He curls into Steve even tighter before unfurling so he can push his head into Bucky’s palm and shift his legs so Tony’s hand is resting on his thigh. With a deep breath, he looks up at Steve. “Okay. I’m ready.” 


	11. Chapter 11

Tony doesn’t apologize. Apologizing means admitting he’s done something wrong, and Tony doesn’t like to think he’s ever wrong. Well, unless he  _ knows _ he’s fucked up. Like stealing (borrowing) some stranger’s precious hat to sate his own curiosity. Steve warned him, but Tony never listens to the voice of reason even if that voice is sexy as hell.

Looking at Jefferson now, he almost wishes he’d listened. Almost. Tony rubs his hands along Jefferson’s thighs, his fingers kneading in gentle circles, and for once he’s glad he’s not leading the conversation. Tony knows that stomach-churning panic all too well. Hell, he’s been there himself more than he cares to remember.  

“Where would you like to start?” Steve asks lightly. It never fails to amaze Tony just how tender this big, beefy man can be.

Jefferson swallows, and his fists clench and unclench as his gaze shifts to Bucky then Tony then back to Steve. “I...I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s sub-drop,” Tony offers with a shrug as he avoids Steve’s eyes. “It’s a neurological response to a massive spike in endorphins and—”

“Tony, English.”

Tony resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Think hormones, even though they’re not  _ really _ hormones," he says. “You were hormonal, happens to the best of us.” Tony has done some things with people that only cared about ripping him apart and not putting him back together. He hasn’t dropped since he jumped into bed with the Captain Care Bear and his cuddly best friend, but Tony is no stranger to the free fall of a good old come-down.      

Jefferson shifts to sit up straighter. “I’ve never experienced anything like...like last night.” He fidgets with the button of his jeans, his bare chest rising and falling with each measured breath. “It was like a dream, euphoric, and I felt...at peace for the first time in a while.”

That was the most words Jefferson has said since he zapped into Bucky’s room with his dick hanging out. Tony squeezes the meat of his thighs, and Jefferson’s broken smile sends a pang of sadness through him.

“Not that, um, I have anyone back home”—Jefferson flails his hands in their general direction—“to do this with.”

“So you teleported here for some kinky action?” Bucky cocks an eyebrow and Jefferson’s cheeks burn a pretty shade of pink.

“I don’t know how that happened. Usually the hat doesn’t just take me places. I have to activate it first.”

“So you don’t know how you got here?”

“No, and now it seems like I can’t get home…”

Bucky pulls Jefferson back until his head rests on Bucky’s thigh once more. They paint a strange picture with their near identical features, but Tony can appreciate just how gorgeous they are. He’s always wondered what Bucky looked like before the war, the Bucky that belonged to Steve almost a century ago. Now Tony gets to at least see for himself the James he never had a chance to know.

Jefferson relaxes as metal fingers card through his hair, his eyes fluttering shut. Bucky leans against Steve’s shoulder and brings his flesh hand to join in the gentle caress. Bucky's calmer now, and when Steve turns to plant a kiss on his forehead, Bucky returns the favour on Steve’s cheek.  

“I-I screwed up. Broke a promise to someone very important.” Jefferson’s voice startles Tony, and he’s twisting that damn button again like he wants to yank it off. There’s so much guilt in his voice, and Tony’s no stranger to the pain etched in the creases of his brows.

“Oh, honey.” Tony gives the legs in his lap a firm squeeze. “We all make mistakes.”

“Not this badly,” Jefferson grumbles. “And now I’ll never get a chance to fix it.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. If you give me some time, I’m sure I can figure out what’s wrong with your hat.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Steve cuts in with a smile. “Tony might not look it, but he’s kind of a genius.”

“It requires magic to work.”

“If Thor can come and go as he pleases, I’m sure we can conjure up a little magic to work your hat.”

Jefferson doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue, just closes his eyes once more and sags against Bucky’s thighs. Tony leans into Steve, his head resting on solid muscle, and he enjoys the silence for about zero point three seconds before it grates on him.

“Jarvis?”

“Sir.”

“Play something.”

Familiar heavy bass shakes the living room, and Tony rolls his eyes so hard he’s sure he strained something. But before he can ask for a new song, he suddenly feels warm—really, really warm. Steve stiffens beside him, radiating heat like a mini sun, and when Tony shifts to get a better look at his beefy boyfriend, something stirs between his legs.

Oh, for the love of God, he’s getting turned on. This blasted song is stirring his dick, and he’d bet his entire car collection that’s why Steve’s burning up too. This is ridiculous; Bucky’s got them conditioned like Pavlov’s dogs, except instead of drooling, they get to sport boners.

Tony opens his mouth, but the words get stuck when movement catches his eye. The hat—no longer crumpled from Jefferson’s death grip—starts to spin on the coffee table. Faster and faster until the velvety fabric is a smooth blur. Jefferson bolts upright, and his wild eyes are the last things Tony sees before the room spins in psychedelic hues.

The couch shifts beneath him, and Tony latches onto Steve’s arm like his life depends on it. So many colours whiz around him, or maybe it is Tony who's spinning out of control. His stomach churns, fighting to expel the coffee and toast he had for breakfast, but Steve’s warm against him, and it’s just enough to quell his rising panic.

Eventually, the colours stop. That same blasted song plays as he sprawls on the floor next to  Steve, Jefferson, and Bucky. He blinks, his watch beeping as his heart rate monitor warns him of an impending heart attack, and takes a few deep breaths before taking in his surroundings.


	12. Chapter 12

Stiles has seen some shit in his life. Stupid shit. Shit right out of fairy tales that would make most people’s heads spin. He has not, however, seen shit right out of a comic book before.  

That is definitely what this is. Now that the burst of blinding light has faded, leaving the top hat rotating to a stop on the floor, he can see the four startled-looking men standing around it...and he recognizes three. Hell, he’s pretty sure he’s jerked off to fantasies starring them. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes, scooting off the hood of the car while giving Derek a sideways glance. Derek isn’t completely wolfed out but his eyes glow bright blue, and his claws slide out when he flexes his hands. “Um, yeah, at the risk of being pedantic, holy shit.” 

“How did you get in here?” Derek growls, menace and bloodshed in his voice, and steps sideways to put himself between Stiles and the newcomers.  

Stiles rolls his eyes. The protectiveness is cute, but Derek should know by now that Stiles can hold his own. He calls his magic up to the surface of his consciousness and does up his jeans with one hand; so much for the sexy times he’d been hoping to use to distract Derek from detailing his car again. Stiles thumbs off the music on his phone and snatches his shirt from the floor. It’s barely over his head before he remembers it has the Captain America shield on the front. This should be interesting.  

The tall blond man—Steve Rogers, Stiles is sure—steps in front of the others, mimicking Derek’s defensive stance. “We can explain,” he says, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. Stiles would take him a lot more seriously if he wasn’t barefoot and wearing plaid pajama pants with the plain blue t-shirt stretched over his bulging muscles. 

“You can explain how Captain America, Iron Man, and the Winter Soldier are standing in our garage?” Stiles says, raising one eyebrow. He turns to the fourth man. “And this guy, who looks just like Bucky Barnes if it was 1943?”

“They’re actors,” Derek says with a huff, doing something expressive with his eyebrows Stiles doesn’t have the patience to interpret. “Peter is probably punking us.”

Stiles tries to express his disbelief with his own eyebrows, but they just aren’t as talented as Derek’s. “You know what punking is?” he says at the same time as the shorter man—Tony Stark, going by the arc reactor glowing through his white muscle shirt—exclaims, “Wait, you know who we are?” 

Stiles steps around Derek, ignoring his boyfriend’s low rumble of protest. “Um, my mom started me reading Marvel comics when I was six. Pretty sure there aren’t many guys running around with glowing energy sources in their chests or metal arms. So my question isn’t really who you are, but how the hell are you real and what the hell are you doing here, because you’re sure as hell not actors.” 

“My hat brought us here,” the Bucky Barnes look-a-like says. 

“Your hat?” Derek barks, disbelief coloring his voice. He steps closer to Stiles and sniffs a few times. “It’s magic?” 

The man nods. “It allows me to cross dimensions.” He looks at the floor, and his shoulders slump. “I think there’s something wrong with it.” 

“No shit,” Bucky says. He clenches his metal fist, and it makes a soft whirring sound.  

Stiles holds up one hand, eyes flicking over Bucky’s very, very well built chest. It’s very distracting, even marred by the mass of scar tissue where skin meets metal. Derek slides his arm around Stiles’ waist and growls under his breath, and Stiles shakes his head to clear it. “Wait, so you’re telling me you’re from a dimension where superheroes are real? Like Thor? Thor exists and walks around in pajama pants and no shirt? That’s seriously a thing that happens? Does the hat go both ways?” 

Derek squeezes Stiles and turns to stare at the side of his head. “Do you really think that’s the important part of all this?” he snaps. His eyes are back to normal and his claws have retracted...so that’s something.  

The sheepish shrug Stiles gives is only half-hearted. Thor is hot even though it’s Captain America he’d put on his fake “freebie” list. Derek had insisted he not include any real people—they did live in California and running into actors is possible—but he’s pretty sure Derek never accounted for a situation like this.  

Stiles clears his throat. “Okay, so—” He gives the short-haired man a questioning look. 

“Jefferson.” 

“Okay, so Jefferson owns a hat that can cross dimensions, and it zapped you all here. First, what the hell kind of superhero needs a magic hat? Is this like Dr. Strange’s cloak? And second, why the hell would it bring you to Beacon Hills?” He turns to Derek. “Do you think this is a nemeton thing? Should we call Scott? Deaton? Hell, Peter?” 

“A nemeton thing?” Tony cuts in. He stops and gives Stiles an assessing glare. “And you’re questioning us when there’s a werewolf standing next to you?” 

Derek growls again, and Stiles slaps his arm. “Knock it off, Derek. Did you really just growl at Iron Man? Oh, the humiliation. I can’t take you anywhere.” 

Jefferson’s eyes go wide. “If you have werewolves in this world, you must have magic. Magic that can make my hat work?” 

Stiles cocks his head to the side. “There’s magic in our world, but I don’t know if it will make your hat work. This is outside my wheelhouse. We usually handle your garden variety monsters and low-grade witchcraft, not hats that rip a hole between dimensions.” 

“You mentioned others,” Steve says, taking a step closer to Jefferson and running his hand down the man’s arm as if to comfort him. “Scott? Deaton? Peter? Are they wizards?” 

Stiles scoffs. “Not exactly. Scott is the Alpha. Werewolf, that is. Deaton is the town vet, and Peter is...well, Peter. He’s more of the last-ditch effort kind of help.” 

Tony rolls his eyes. “This seems like a last-ditch kind of situation. I’d rather not be stuck here with Red Riding H—” 

“That was one time,” Stiles snaps, “and it was Halloween!” 

Derek squeezes him again. “Focus.” 

“Okay, fine. I can run into town and see if Deaton knows anything. Can I take the hat?” 

Jefferson snatches the hat to his chest and shakes his head wildly. 

Tony steps forward and squeezes Jefferson’s arm. “Do you want to go?” Another fierce shake of his head. Tony nods. “I can go with him. Keep an eye on it in case there’s any funny business.” He twists his hand and shows Jefferson something Stiles can’t see from where he’s standing. For a heart-stopping second, Stiles wonders if it’s part of the suit. 

“Tony, you’re not going anywhere here alone.” Steve turns to Stiles with a shrug. “No offense, kid, but we don’t know anything about you or this place.” 

“One of us can go with Tony and the kid—” Bucky starts. 

“Stiles,” he cuts in, pointing to himself.  

Bucky scowls. “Stiles? What kind of name—” 

“Probably the same kind as Bucky,” Stiles shoots back. 

“Fucking hell,” Bucky mutters. “Okay, fine. We can go with Tony and Stiles—” 

“You’re not going with them alone,” Derek growls.  

Stiles shoves him away. “Cool it, Sourwolf. I can take care of myself.” 

Derek’s eyes flash blue. “You’re still not going with them alone.” 

“Well, unless you have a school bus, we’re not all going,” Stiles snaps. 

Steve holds up one hand to stop their bickering. “Tony and Bucky, you go with the kid—Stiles, sorry—and I’ll stay here with Jefferson and Derek.” When Derek opens his mouth to argue, Steve puts up his hand again. “Look. We have no reason to hurt Stiles. I don’t like being separated from them any more than you like being separated from him, but we’re at an impasse here.” 

“If anything happens to him, I’ll kill all of you,” Derek shoots back. 

“I’d like to see you try, cupcake,” Tony says, stepping up so he’s face to face with Derek despite being nearly three inches shorter.  

Steve shoves his arm between them and pulls Tony back against his chest as Stiles gawps. These guys are just as touchy-feely as Stiles has liked to imagine. “Stop it, Tony. You’re not helping.” Steve turns to Derek. “I give you my word. Stiles is safe with Tony and Bucky. We need your help and we have nothing to gain by hurting anyone. Please.” 

Derek narrows his eyes, and for a few beats, Stiles is sure he’s about to go right back to arguing. Stiles flexes his fingers, getting ready to give Derek a demonstration of just how much he doesn’t appreciate the damsel in distress routine, but Derek gives a short nod.  

“Fine. But you call me from Deaton’s. If I don’t hear from you—” 

“We got it,” Stiles grumbles. “Destruction and mayhem. Check. Okay, the Jeep is out front.” 

Tony and Bucky exchange a glance, and Bucky smirks. “I call shotgun.” 


	13. Chapter 13

Derek scrubs the microfiber cloth along the hood of his car—his hands shaking with agitation—and glances at the duo seated at the other end of the garage. Derek is a werewolf in a world filled with supernatural and magical beings, yet he finds it difficult to wrap his head around the events of the past thirty minutes.

Superheroes are not real. They exist to fuel childish dreams of a better world where good triumphs over evil. Where bad people are the stuff of nightmares. But Derek learned at a young age that evil can wear a pretty face with wavy blonde hair and an intoxicating scent that deceives and betrays.

Real heroes are those who peer inside a soul and find darkness, but choose to seek out the light still flickering there. A real hero takes something broken and tries to fit the pieces back together over and over until that something is whole again. Until Derek is whole again. Stiles is his hero, and he’s the only one Derek will ever need.

How long does it take to drive to Deaton’s?

Derek scowls, and from his reflection on the gleaming surface of the Camaro, his eyebrows mock him. Maybe Stiles is right about his damn eyebrows, but Derek will choke on his own tail before admitting that to Stiles.

Hushed voices hover in the air around him. Derek tries not to eavesdrop, but the garage isn’t huge, and his supernatural hearing isn’t something he can turn off. He’s been trying to distract himself with detailing his car, but it’s only been a couple days since the last time he did it. Trying to ignore the voices is giving him a headache, so Derek sits down next to his car, leaning his head against her sleek flank, and tunes in.  

Derek still can’t believe Captain America is sitting in the ratty old couch in their garage in his pajamas with no shoes. When Stiles insisted on watching all eighteen Marvel movies just a week ago, Derek only put up a token fight. He’s not a super fan, but he admires the magnificent physique of the actors even if he will never voice his appreciation to Stiles.

The last thing Stiles needs to know is that Derek may or may not have jerked off to the idea of Stiles riding Captain America into oblivion.  

“...will figure it out, I’m sure.” Steve’s voice trickles in. It’s soft, but there’s a commanding edge to his words.

“What if they don’t?” Jefferson twists his hands in his lap and avoids Steve’s steady gaze. Derek doesn’t blame him. He wouldn’t want to look the epitome of American righteousness right in the eye either.

“Tony’s with them. He’s not just a genius in name. And that Stiles kid,” Steve says and drags a large hand through his hair, “seems to know his way around magic. They didn’t freak out when we popped into their world. Not in the way I’d expect non-magical folks to.”

Jefferson nods, but he doesn’t say anything. Steve pries Jefferson’s fingers loose and pulls both hands into his lap. Jefferson seems to relax, and the sharp, sour odor of fear eases.

Derek closes his eyes and takes a deep, lung-bursting breath. Captain America smells like fresh laundry and pine needles, the scent so strong it masks the miasma of confusion and anguish rolling off Jefferson. The smaller man is hurting, and every once in a while Derek catches a whiff of something familiar. Something he’s not tasted in a long time but will never forget.

Regret. Guilt. Two distinctive emotions that when mixed together, forms a concoction that suffocated him until he met Stiles. Until Stiles picked apart the threads of self-loathing with delicate fingers and soothed the scars on Derek’s soul.

“It’s all my fault,” Jefferson says, his voice pulling Derek out of triggered memories.

“What is?” Steve asks.

“All this. Everything.” Jefferson waves a hand between himself and Steve, his heart beating so fast Derek’s afraid the man will have a heart attack. “All this would have never happened if I—” Jefferson’s lips press into a thin line as colour drains from his already pale cheeks.

Steve gathers Jefferson’s hand into his larger one and brings it to his lips. “Talk to me, Jefferson.”

Derek should turn away. Put on some music and let the strangers have their privacy, but the way Jefferson’s heart rate slows at Steve’s touch gives him pause. He’s drawn to Steve the same way an Omega is drawn to an Alpha. Steve radiates confidence like a beacon, his presence is soothing the same way an Alpha’s touch can be.

Steve is not a werewolf, and yet, Derek finds himself also drawn to the steadfastness of the man. So, instead of acting like a decent person, Derek scoots closer and pretends to be a fly on the wall.

Jefferson takes a deep, shuddering breath, then says, “In my world, fairy tales are real.”

“Like Snow White?” Steve asks.

Jefferson nods. “Snow White, Prince Charming”—he pauses—“the Evil Queen.” Steve kisses Jefferson’s knuckles once more in encouragement. “She, the Queen, she needed my help. With my hat. I was going to say no, but she offered me a lot of money, and since I tried to live on the straight and narrow, money was tight, and Grace…” Jefferson swallows and shuts his eyes.

Bitter saltiness hangs in the air, but Jefferson holds back the tears and continues, “My daughter, all she wanted was a new toy, and I couldn’t afford it. So I agreed to the Queen’s deal. Long story short, she betrayed me, left me stranded in Wonderland, then she took Grace from me.” Jefferson touches the jagged scar around his neck with trembling fingers.

If Derek is right—and he’s rarely wrong about nasty things—that scar runs beyond skin deep.

“Oh…” Steve gathers Jefferson into his lap and whispers against Jefferson’s hair.

Derek turns away and curls his hands into fists. Jefferson’s pain smells like decay, the scent so sharp it spears through Derek.

“All I want is a chance to say I’m sorry,” Jefferson says, his voice breaking as he swallows a sob. “And now my hat—I don’t know what’s happening. And I’ve dragged you and Bucky and Tony into this mess, and I—”

“Pony” by Ginuwine blares from Dere’s pocket. He startles, then struggles with his pant pocket. Damn Stiles must have changed his ringtone again when Derek wasn’t looking. What is with his obsession with this song anyway? It isn’t until the chorus that Derek orients his phone and jabs the  _ answer _ button.

“You changed my ringtone,” he growls just as Stiles says, “We’re at Deaton’s.”

Stiles laughs, the sound chipping away at Derek’s annoyance until the corners of his lips twitch. He can never stay mad at Stiles. “Let me know what you find out from Deaton.”

“Sure thi—”

“Seriously, kid, how is this junk pile still running? It’s held together with  _ duct tape. _ ” Tony’s voice cuts in from the background. Derek snorts and nods in agreement. He’s tried to convince Stiles to get a new car many times. They can afford it, but Stiles has more sentiment than he does good sense.

“Not all of us are bazhillionaires,” Stiles sounds far away as if he’s got a hand over the speaker. “Anyway—” his voice comes through clear this time, “gotta go. I’ll call you when we have something.” The line goes dead before Derek can respond, and he shakes his head.

He pushes to his feet, walks over to Steve and Jefferson, and pulls a folding chair from behind the couch. He unfurls the chair and straddles it backwards, putting the chair back between him and the two men. Jefferson slips from Steve’s lap onto the couch, his cheeks rosy.

“They’re at Deaton’s now. Hopefully Stiles will call with good news shortly,” Derek says.

“I’d drink to that if I could get drunk,” Steve says with a rueful smile.

“So you really can’t get drunk?”

“Passes through me like water.”

“I’m the same way,” Derek says, then blinks. Derek never opens up to anyone, least of all a stranger claiming to be from another dimension. Perhaps it’s Steve’s vulnerability that has Derek lowering his guard.

“I’ve never met a werewolf before,” Steve says with another smile, and Derek finds himself warming to him even more.

“I’ve never met a superhero before.”

“I’m no superhero. Just a kid from Brooklyn trying to do the right thing.”

“Not if the movies are anything to go by.”

“It’s true,” Jefferson pipes up with a shy smile. “I’ve seen the movies too. You’re as close to a superhero as they come, Steve.”

Derek turns to Jefferson, and the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. “And...not all villains are bad people.”


	14. Chapter 14

Metal grinds on metal as they take the corner too fast, and Tony grits his teeth. Bucky has been silent in the back seat since they left the veterinarian’s office, which is enough to worry Tony. He’s been off since the last mission and all this interdimensional travel bullshit has him even more rattled. And James Buchanan Barnes rattled doesn’t bode well for anyone.

Deaton hummed and said a lot of cryptic things, but he hadn’t known anything about how to make Jefferson’s hat work. When the Alpha showed up, things went even farther south. Tony knows he was that young once, but he doesn’t think he was ever that earnest.

He glances at the kid driving the beat-up Jeep and frowns.  _ Stiles. _ Unlike Scott and the vet, he’d at least been moderately helpful. He did  _ something _ to the hat, once he convinced Bucky it was safe, and purple energy swirled around the edges. But after a moment, Stiles sighed, and the hat stopped glowing.

“I’ll see what we can find out,” Deaton said, motioning to the floppy-haired Alpha. Tony isn’t all that comfortable leaving their fates to a veterinarian and a werewolf who might not even be shaving yet, but he doesn‘t have a choice. He’s a man of science, not all this hand-waving mumbo jumbo.

Stiles takes another corner, throwing Tony into the door, and the Jeep shudders with another metallic screech. “Your transmission is shot, kid,” Tony says, righting himself.

“I’ll add it to the list.” He shoots Tony a scowl.

“Isn’t your boyfriend a car guy? And he lets you drive around in this death trap?”

Stiles shoots Tony a glare. “He doesn’t  _ let _ me do anything. And fixing the transmission will take money I don’t have. It’s bad enough he owns the building and pays the bills. I’m not letting him foot the bill for the car, too.” He clamps his mouth shut and keeps his eyes pinned to the road.

Tony hums. Jesus, this kid and Steve Rogers could give classes in martyrdom. Sounds like this is a fight Stiles and Derek have had before, and he and Steve could give them the transcript.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Stiles asks without looking at him.

Tony shrugs. “If he’s got money and you need something he’s willing to pay for, refusing makes you a dumbass.”

Bucky snorts from the backseat. He’s been in the middle of this fight so many times, he’s started refusing to get involved. He’s said he can see Steve’s side, but he’s enough of a hedonist to appreciate Tony’s generosity.

“Figures you’d side with him.”

“Why’s that?”

Stiles takes another turn and Tony recognizes the street. They’re close to Derek’s building. “Come on, you’ve got money to burn. Bet you’re used to buying whatever you want.”

Tony glances at Bucky, who is looking impassively out the window, completely checked out from the conversation. Shadows line his face, and not all are from the passing streetlights. “There are some things money can’t buy, so if I can make the world a little more comfortable in other ways, why not?” Tony has thrown millions of dollars at fixing what Hydra did to Bucky, but all the money in the world can’t undo the damage they did to his mind.

Stiles must have caught Tony’s look because he glances back at Bucky too. His expression fills with sympathy, and Tony remembers him saying he’d read the comics. So he knows what they’ve been through, all except Jefferson. Stiles is silent for a moment, and then he asks, “So, uh, are you guys, like, a thing?”

Tony raises an eyebrow and Bucky snorts again. “You could say that,” Bucky says, a snicker in his voice.

“Huh,” Stiles says. “They left that out of the comics.”

“Thank God.” Tony might have an exhibitionist streak, but he shudders at imagining the scene that took place last night rendered in a comic pane.

Stiles parks the Jeep outside the big, dark brick building. Rather than going into the garage, they take the freight elevator to the fourth floor and he leads them to a spacious loft.

“Hi, honey. We’re home!” Stiles calls in a sing-song voice as he pushes the heavy sliding door closed behind them.

“Ha ha.” Derek’s tone is so dry, Tony finds himself warming to him.

The three men are clustered around the island in the corner of the room that houses the kitchen. Unlike the simmering animosity from before they left, the scene is almost cozy. Jefferson and Derek sit on stools at the bar and Steve stands beside them. Rather than the rigid posture Tony associates with Captain America, Steve is relaxed, his body angled toward them in a soft slouch. 

Even stranger is the way Derek seems to lean into him, his eyes following Steve when he steps back to avoid being flattened by Jefferson launching himself out of his chair.

“Did you get it to work?” Jefferson asks, reaching for his hat.

Bucky holds it out to him. “Sorry, doll,” Bucky murmurs. “Guess we’re stuck here for a while.”

Jefferson stiffens and then relaxes into Bucky with a soft whimper. “This is my fault.”

Steve pushes away from the bar and walks over to take Jefferson by the shoulders. “Enough of that. We talked about this. Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it together.”

Stiles launches into a lively re-telling of what happened at the vet’s office. He’s animated, hands punctuating his words with rapid gestures, and a few times he goes off on a tangent before dragging himself back to the story.  

He’s entertaining, that’s for certain. Now that Tony isn’t focused on the problem of the misbehaving hat, he can appreciate the kid’s lanky appeal. He’s young, almost half Tony’s age, and the tiny part of Tony that gives a shit about societal norms—minuscule really—feels a little bad about the flicker of attraction. Stiles’ mouth is wide and mobile, and Tony bets the kid gives amazing head.

With that thought, Tony shifts his gaze to Derek. The werewolf is older, but still at least a decade Tony’s junior. Where Stiles is slender and dynamic, Derek is solid and enigmatic. He’s the foundation to Stiles’ energy.

What is interesting, though, is that Derek isn’t only watching Stiles. His eyes flick to Steve now and then, as if he’s gauging Steve’s reaction, and he orients his body to Steve the same way Jefferson does… as if they’re both waiting for Steve to tell them what to do.

Interesting, indeed.


	15. Chapter 15

Stiles senses the shift in Derek before he consciously registers it, but when he does, it’s all he can do to not shove Derek into Captain America’s lap. Instead, he takes a deep breath and plunks his ass into the bar stool next to Derek. “So, Deaton will call us when he finds something. We’ll just hafta sit tight.”

“How long will that be?” Derek doesn’t sound hostile anymore, but he doesn’t sound happy either.

Stiles shrugs. “However long it takes for him to dig out some info about a TARDIS hat.”

Jefferson slumps in his seat, his hat cradled in his lap, and he picks at the wide brim absentmindedly. The rest of their strange visitors mill about the kitchen, lean hips propped against counters and muscled arms crossed over chests.

Stiles inhales, counts to ten, exhales, counts to ten, and inhales again, trying to calm the jitters he’s been hiding since the moment they walked through the door. These are his heroes in the  _ flesh _ . He’s done his best to keep his excitement from boiling over, but now that they have literally nothing to do, his brain breaks free of its chains and tips over the cliff of his dirty imagination.

Stiles has been a Marvel fan since the day his mom bought him his first comic book. When the movies came out, his love for these characters deepened; they became more real, more relatable. As Stiles got older, he started shipping and couldn’t help all the fantasies he had while buffing his banana and fondling his figs.

And now, the very objects of his adolescent-self’s desires are all standing  _ right there _ . And they’re  _ a thing. Together _ . If he’s being honest with himself, he’s a little (okay, a lot) giddy that his OT3 is canon. Take that, haters. He glances at Jefferson and the image of him and Bucky spit roasting someone—perhaps Derek? Or himself?—pops into his head.

_ Really, Stiles, really? _

Taking another deep breath, Stiles bumps his knee into Derek’s thigh and cocks an eyebrow at him. “I take you guys made nice while we were gone?”

Derek grunts. It’s all the response Stiles gets, but he doesn’t miss the flick of Derek’s gaze toward Steve. Doesn’t miss the way his body leans in Steve’s direction like a magnet finding north. Huh.

_ Huh. _

Tony, Steve, and Bucky have their heads together—God, they’re hot even when they’re all frowning—as they murmur something Stiles can’t hear. He could cast a spell to enhance his hearing, but that just isn’t right. Instead, he turns his attention back to Derek and, since his brain is incapable of not slipping back into the gutter, he asks, “So, remember that list we talked about?”

Derek snaps his sharp gaze on Stiles, his brows knitted so fiercely they’re almost touching. “What...about it?”

“Remember what you said when I asked if you  _ had _ to pick someone, who would it be?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Derek’s gaze, so steady and piercing just moments ago, now shifts and avoids Stiles.

“You said, and I remember clearly, ‘If I ever met Captain America—’”

“Really?” Derek’s eyebrows do a complicated, acrobatic move and settle for their patented I-am-judging-you sine wave. “With everything that’s happened, that’s what you’re focused on?”

Stiles opens his mouth, but a soft voice beats him to it. “If you ever met Captain America what?” Bucky’s wintery eyes dart between Derek and Stiles. The look sends a zing down Stiles’ spine, and he hasn’t decided if that’s a good or a bad thing. Yet.

Derek growls. “It’s not polite to eavesdrop.”

“I never pretended to be polite.” Bucky shrugs.

“This is a private conversation.”

“Sorry, pal. Real bad people did real bad things to me,” Bucky says as if he’s discussing the weather, “and now I got bat ears. Besides, you’re talking about my man like I’m not here. Now, who’s being rude?”

Stiles grits his teeth and lassos his eyeballs. The last thing he needs is to aggravate Derek further by rolling his eyes. A low rumbling noise emanates from Derek’s chest, and Stiles can make out the beginnings of Derek’s brow ridge protruding. So much for not aggravating him. Shit.

Bucky takes a step toward them, his metal arm whirring as he clenches his fists, and Stiles does roll his eyes this time. Seriously. He’s been sitting here having salacious thoughts about all parties present, the last thing he wants or needs is a bloody fight.

Stiles steps between Derek and Bucky and mutters a short incantation under his breath. It’s a simple modified charm spell—one of the first he learned when he took on the mantle of emissary—but it comes in handy when he wants to command the room.

“Okay, okay. Stop, stop, stop,” he says, his voice not loud but impossible to ignore. Every pair of eyes turn to him, and Stiles clears his throat as his skin burns underneath all this scrutiny. “Derek, you know what Bucky’s been through. Cut the guy some slack, okay?”

Stiles pivots his stare at Bucky. “Look, I didn’t mean to be rude. I really didn’t. You’re all my heroes.”

“I’m no hero, kid.”

“Okay, seriously, why do you all call me that?” Stiles crosses his arms. “Do I look twelve to you?”

Bucky snorts, and his gaze traverses the length of Stiles’ body. That same zing zaps down his spine. This time, Stiles decides it’s definitely a good thing. “Oh”—Bucky winks—”not twelve, more—”

Derek lets out a barking growl and lunges forward. Bucky’s eyes narrow, and Stiles pushes more magic into his voice. “Enough!” He puts out both hands, each pressing into a different muscular chest. “Believe me, you guys don’t want to get into a fight.”

“Why not?” Bucky’s voice is soft and low. Too soft. Too low.

Stiles swallows but holds his ground and stares Bucky down. “Because—” Because what? His brain grinds to a halt and he hangs mid-sentence. Because he’d rather watch Derek and Bucky fuck than fight? Don’t think that would go overly well with either of them.

“Because there are better ways for you to expend that pent up energy,” Tony says and winks at Stiles.


	16. Chapter 16

_ Because there are better ways for you to expend that pent up energy. _

Derek ignores the shiver that runs through him at Tony’s words, but he can’t stop himself from glancing at Steve. He loves Stiles with everything he is, but for a split second, he lets himself imagine what it would be like to have Steve’s big body pinning him to the mattress. Stiles’ magic gives him a few advantages, but he’ll never be stronger than Derek. Not the way an enhanced superhuman would be.

Dragging his gaze away from Steve, Derek looks back at Tony. There’s a flare of interest in his eyes and the scent of arousal rolls off him in waves, but neither are directed at Derek. No, the older man is looking right at Stiles.

A growl starts in Derek’s chest as he steps between them, blocking Tony’s gaze. Stiles is  _ his _ . His mate, his Pack, his entire life. No fantasy is worth losing that.

“Derek,” Stiles says, poking him in the back with one finger. “Chill. He was joking.”

Tony raises one eyebrow and Derek growls again. “I don’t think he was. He wants you.”

Stiles steps to the side and smacks Derek’s arm when he tries to move in front of him again. He rolls his eyes and turns to Tony. “I know all this is hard to refuse,” he says in the self-deprecating tone that Derek hates and motions down his own body, “but tell him you were joking before he busts a blood vessel.”

“You’re cute, kid. Bet you’re really flexible,” Tony says with a shrug. Beside him, Bucky smirks and rakes his gaze up and down Stiles’ body.

Derek growls again as Stiles flushes. A mixture of embarrassment and arousal wafts off him, and it’s only with effort that Derek stops himself from shifting and ripping the man’s throat out.

“Geez, Tony,” Steve chastises, pushing away from the table and joining them. “Is now really the time?”

Derek narrows his eyes. “The time?” he barks. “You’re okay with him hitting on Stiles?”

Steve lays a hand on Tony’s shoulder and shrugs. “Tony likes what he likes. I gave up trying to change him a long time ago. We’ve all been through too much to put limits on our relationship.”

“So you have sex with other people?” Derek can’t wrap his head around sharing Stiles with anyone, let alone multiple people.

Bucky reaches out his left hand to Jefferson, who has been hanging back, and hauls him against his side. “We don’t fuck around on each other if that’s what you’re thinkin’,” he says, metal fingers playing up Jefferson’s side. “Sometimes we see someone we want to invite to join us for a night or two. No harm, no foul.”

Derek shakes his head. “You’re not inviting Stiles anywhere,” he growls, pulling Stiles tight against his body the same way and ignoring Stiles’ groan of indignation.

“Tony meant no disrespect,” Steve offers, palms out. “Stiles is very, uh, appealing. And to be honest, so are you.” A light blush colors the apples of his cheeks and he gives Derek a sheepish smile.

Before Derek can even process that, let alone respond to it, Stiles pokes him in the side. “Derek, I just remembered I need to show you, uh, that thing. In our room. Upstairs.” He takes several steps toward the spiral staircase that leads up to the recently renovated bedrooms before he turns back and gives Derek a significant look. “ _ Now _ .”

In all the years they’ve known each other, Derek has more than gotten used to Stiles’ weirdness. He gives the four men a bland look and says, “We’ll be right back.” By the time Derek makes it to the bedroom, Stiles is pacing and muttering to himself. “What the hell was that all about?”

Stiles freezes, gives Derek a nasty look, and continues to pace, his hands flailing. After four more circuits of the small room, he stops and shoots Derek a withering look. “Captain America wants to jump your bones,” he snaps. “Iron Man thinks I’m cute and Steve Rogers totally wants to fuck you.”

“Would you stop,” Derek barks, snagging Stiles around the waist the next time he passes. He presses his nose to Stiles’ temple. “I only want you.”

Stiles’ lips twist and he turns to narrow his eyes at Derek. “Derek,” he says in that patient, slightly condescending voice he uses when he thinks Derek is being obtuse. “You know I love you. I think getting shot for you and standing up to my dad for you and undergoing years and years of training and really, really,  _ really _ painful trials so I could become your Pack Emissary should have proven that.”

“I love you, too,” Derek says automatically, inhaling to catch the scent of Stiles’ contentment. It’s there, like always, but tinged with frustration and just a whiff of lust.

“So trust me, trust our love, when I say you should totally let Captain America fuck you.”

“Stiles!”

“No,” Stiles blurts, slapping one hand over Derek’s mouth. “Hear me out.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Derek says against his palm.

“Are you going to listen without interrupting?”

Derek rolls his eyes and nods, darting his tongue out to lick Stiles’ palm before he pulls it away. He smirks when Stiles shoots him a dirty look in return.

“First, let me start by saying I am very, very satisfied with our sex life. What I am about to say is in no way, shape, or form a statement on how happy I am. You are very, very good at giving me plenty of really amazing orgasms.” He pauses and waggles his eyebrows for emphasis.

Derek closes his eyes and sighs even though it makes him warm inside to hear Stiles say he’s happy. Hang-ups about sex are just a handful of Derek’s many issues. He opens his eyes and catches Stiles’ flailing hands. “Okay, I get it. Is there a point?”

Stiles takes a deep breath. “I just can’t help but feel like there are things you wish I could do that I can’t.”

“I am completely happy,” Derek protests.

“It’s not about being happy. It’s about certain fantasies I know you have that I can’t fulfill. There’s this”—he huffs—“I mean, you know I really like it when you push me around, but, well, you  _ react _ when I use my magic to hold you down. I can’t hold it very long, but you get really, really turned on when I do.”

Derek ducks his head to hide his blush. Stiles isn’t wrong. There’s a part of Derek that likes the idea of not being the strong one. Of not just submitting, but of being  _ made _ to submit. He’s always felt like it’s a sign he’s been warped by everything he’s been through. “I don’t need—”

“Maybe not,” Stiles says, cupping his cheek and drawing his head up to meet his eyes, “but if it’s something I can give you, there’s no reason not to.”

A deep breath catches in Derek’s lungs when he thinks about it, about Steve and Bucky and what they might do to him. Then he thinks about Tony touching Stiles and his stomach sours. “I don’t know if I can stand having them touch you,” he admits. “You’re mine, my mate, and letting someone else have you makes me want to rip their throats out.”

Stiles laughs and leans in to kiss the furrows on his forehead. “No throat ripping,” he says, moving down to slide his lips across Derek’s mouth. Derek chases his lips and Stiles chuckles again. “I don’t need to, I mean, this could just be for you.”

Derek frowns. “That’s not fair. You have fantasies, too. I’ve seen the fanart you have saved on your computer.”

“Look, I’m not saying the thought of getting naked with those guys doesn’t totally get me hot, but watching could be good, too. I mean, it would be like my own personal superhero porno.” He gives Derek a lascivious grin. “So I’ll hang back, and if you get comfortable enough to let me join in, let me know. If not, I’ll still end up with enough fodder for my spank bank to make sure we need to stock up on an industrial sized bottle of waterproof lube for the shower. Deal?”

Derek thinks about it for a moment, then nods. “I guess it can’t hurt to see what they say.”


	17. Chapter 17

Keeping his boyfriends in check is like herding two very disagreeable cats, and Steve’s come to terms with it for the most part. But sometimes, and right now is one of those times, he wishes Tony and Bucky weren’t so goddamned confrontational. As attractive as their unwilling hosts are, the last thing Steve wants is to agitate them. And flirting with the boyfriend of a possessive werewolf is definitely agitating. 

Though, if Steve is honest with himself, he can’t help how his whole body tingles at the way Derek seems to gravitate toward him. The way those sharp blue eyes track his every move and the way Derek’s breathing hitches whenever they stand close. Derek is physically striking with his wide shoulders and solid chest, but there’s also something about him, about the way he shifts around Steve, that brings out the rougher side of Steve he tries to hold back with Bucky and Tony. 

His enhanced hearing picks up the soft scuff of sneakers on the stairs. Steve shakes his head and gives Tony and Bucky a stern glance as Stiles comes bounding down the steps with Derek in tow. 

Steve takes a step toward them. “Look, I’m really sorry about all that.” He waves a hand in Tony and Bucky’s general direction. Bucky snorts, and Steve turns to glare at him. “We were out of line and—”

Stiles holds up one slender finger and says, “Nuh uh. Don’t apologize. After all, it takes two to tango and all that jazz.” He throws Derek a look that has Steve’s lips twitching despite his efforts to keep his expression neutral. Stiles clears his throat and turns back to Steve. “Did you mean what you said earlier?” 

“I’m sorry?”

“Earlier, when you said Derek is, what was it—”

“Very appealing,” Tony supplies with an eyebrow waggle. 

“Right, that,” Stiles says and reaches for Derek’s hand. 

Steve nods. “I...I do. Find him—and you—very appealing. I’m sorry if what I said offended you.”

“No. God no. Not at all. Please, are you kidding me? But...” Stiles pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and steals another glance at Derek, who has taken a sudden intense interest in the texture of the hardwood floor. “What if we want you to do something about it?”   

Steve blinks. “You want us to—” The rest of Steve’s words die on his tongue when Derek looks up from the floor. The mix of uncertainty and desire in his eyes makes Steve’s chest ache, and suddenly, all Steve wants to do is to wipe any hint of insecurity from Derek’s handsome face. 

He looks to Tony then Bucky, and when both give him their silent permission, he catches Jefferson’s eyes. Even though Steve’s unsure what Jefferson means to him, to  _ them _ , it feels like the right thing to do. Jefferson’s eyes widen, but after a moment’s hesitation, he smiles timidly and nods.  

Butterflies flutter in Steve’s gut. Usually, it’s Bucky or Tony who brings others into their bedroom. He takes a deep breath, then turns back and takes a step toward Stiles and Derek. Then another. And another, until he’s standing directly in front of Stiles. 

“Uh—” Stiles looks up at him and swallows. “Not me. Just Derek...just...make him feel good, okay?” 

Steve senses the bond between Stiles and Derek, senses the love and trust and their conviction to do right by each other. To give each other anything and everything. It’s a feeling he’s familiar with. A feeling he basks in everyday when he wakes up cocooned in the warmth of the two men who mean the world to him. 

Steve gazes into Stiles’ liquid brown eyes and sees that same unwavering love. He nods, and Stiles smiles as an unspoken understanding passes between them. Stiles wants this for Derek. 

Stiles squeezes Derek’s hand and pecks him on the cheek, then he backs away. Steve reaches up to cup Derek’s cheek. His skin is warm, his stubble scratchy against Steve’s palm, and he’s trembling. Derek stares into Steve’s eyes, and he leans into Steve’s touch as if it’s the only thing keeping him tethered. 

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Steve murmurs, his thumb brushing the heated apple of Derek’s cheek. Derek doesn’t respond, just parts his lips, and it’s all the invitation Steve needs. 

The kiss is chaste, gentle like a warm summer rain, and a familiar excitement thrills through him. There’s something to be said about the taste of a first kiss. It takes his breath away. He loves exploring a new mouth, loves finding out just what makes a new lover tick. And Derek is so responsive, already so in tune with every press of Steve’s lips and every nip and lick. 

Steve leans into the kiss, one hand cradling the back of Derek’s head and pulling him closer. He licks along the seam of Derek’s mouth and moans when he opens to him. Everything about the kiss is a gust of wind to the embers of Steve’s arousal, and with Derek’s every whimpering moan and desperate gasp, Steve finds himself wanting to lay claim to him. 

“Oh sweet Jesus.” Stiles’ voice is hoarse, and it snaps Derek out of whatever trance he’s been in. He tries to squirm away, but Steve hasn’t had enough of that sweet mouth and those sinful noises. His grip tightens around the back of Derek’s neck, and his other arm snakes around Derek’s waist to pin Derek’s body flush against his. 

“If you really want me to stop, I will, but,” Steve murmurs against the corner of Derek’s lips, “something tells me that’s not what you really want.”

Derek hesitates as he glances between Steve and Stiles and back to Steve, then strong hands fists the front of Steve’s shirt. “Kiss me.” 

Steve does, and this time, he doesn’t hold back. 


	18. Chapter 18

Jealousy is an uncomfortable feeling. It curls in Jefferson’s gut like a living thing, a disgusting reminder of how warped he is inside. The sickness is made worse by the fact that Steve isn’t even  _ his _ . He has no right to the burn of displeasure under his skin.

Steve tips Derek’s head back, the strength in his hands holding the other man still even though Jefferson assumes the werewolf could put up a decent resistance if he chose. But who would fight that grasp? Who would struggle against that kind of onslaught? Not Jefferson. And given the barely audible moans escaping Derek’s throat as Steve drags his lips over flushed skin, neither would Derek.

Jefferson shifts, preparing to walk away, to give them privacy. He doesn’t want to watch Steve’s hands skim down Derek’s sides to settle on his hips. Doesn’t want to deal with the riot of emotion that flares in his chest when Steve tugs Derek tight against his body. The last time he coveted something that wasn’t his to have, his entire world fell apart and Grace paid the price.

Strong arms slide around Jefferson’s waist. One metal and one flesh, and that isn’t as strange as it had been just last night. Jefferson shivers when Bucky’s breath ghosts over his ear. “It gets better.”

“Wha—what?” Jefferson gasps, turning to stare into pale eyes identical to his.

“Watching him with someone else,” Bucky says, lips grazing Jefferson’s cheek. “Used to drive me crazy at first, but now it makes me hard as a rock. I know where I stand, so enjoying it is easy.”

Jefferson tenses, wanting to deny what Bucky is implying. His wants, his desires, they aren’t the same as Bucky’s. He has no right to them. “I’m not… I don’t…”

Bucky’s metal hand slips down—mechanism whirring—to squeeze his erection. Shame floods Jefferson at Bucky’s chuckle. “It’s okay to let yourself enjoy it,” Bucky says, holding him tight when Jefferson tries to twist away. He kneads Jefferson’s cock through the leather. “Look at them,” he orders, stroking Jefferson faster. Bucky’s hard dick nudges Jefferson’s ass as he rolls his hips forward.

Jefferson bites back a moan, pleasure streaking through him, and follows Bucky’s command. Across the room, Derek is on his knees in front of Steve, his eyes glassy. Steve has one hand around Derek’s throat, tilting his head back, and the other fisting his own cock. His pants are shoved down his thighs and the head of his dick is shiny with moisture where it peeks from his tight grasp. Jefferson mimics the motion when Derek licks his lips.  

He remembers being on his knees for Steve, the strength in Steve’s big palm when it cupped his face, the command in his gaze. He’d give anything to be there again. To let Steve take him out of his head and make all this okay.

“Come on,” Bucky says, releasing Jefferson’s dick and grabbing his wrist instead. Instead of escaping, Jefferson lets Bucky drag him closer. Steve looks up when Bucky stops next to him and something unspoken passes between them.

Steve nods and leans in to kiss Bucky. The entire time he ravages Bucky’s mouth, he keeps his grip on Derek’s neck, his cock brushing back and forth against Derek’s lips.

When Steve pulls away with a soft sigh, Bucky gives him a grin and looks down at Derek. “He sure is something to look at,” Bucky says, his gaze tracing over Derek’s flushed face. Derek flinches away, his eyes going hard, but Steve holds him still. After a moment, Derek relaxes and his eyes refocus on Steve’s dick. Bucky chuckles. “Seem like he wants your cock real bad, Stevie.”

Derek moans, lips parting to catch the tip of Steve’s dick between them, but Steve shifts to keep it away, his mouth curving up into a small smile. “Guess so,” Steve says. He strokes Derek’s cheek and asks, “Derek, is it okay if someone else touches you? Not just me.”

Pale green eyes flick to Stiles, who lets out a whimper before nodding, his skinny jeans doing nothing to hide his reaction to the scene. He clearly has no problem seeing his lover with another man. Derek’s eyes flick back up to Steve’s face and he swallows hard, throat working, as he nods.

“Need to hear you say it,” Steve says, thumb tracing Derek’s cheekbone. “I gotta know you’re okay with everything that happens.”

Derek swallows again and parts his lips. “Yeah, I... yes, it’s okay.” His voice is wrecked, all gravel and heat and lust.

Steve nods. “Thank you,” he says, voice sincere. He rubs the head of his cock against Derek’s lips again, and this time, when Derek parts them, Steve presses his length inside. Derek’s eyelids flutter closed, mouth stretched around Steve’s dick. Jefferson remembers that weight on his tongue, the pleasure of it filling his mouth, the slick, salty bitterness of Steve’s fluids coating the back of his throat.

Next to them, Stiles makes a cut off groan, and Jefferson glances over. He has the knuckles of one fist shoved into his mouth to muffle his reaction and his other hand shoved down the open front of his jeans. Next to him, Tony watches the younger man with undisguised lust.

“Give me your hand,” Steve says, dragging Jefferson’s attention back to the filthy scene in front of him. He reaches for Jefferson with the hand not guiding Derek’s head in a fast, deep rhythm. Saliva drools from the corners of Derek’s mouth, but Derek doesn’t seem to notice.

Jefferson lets Steve pull him forward, Bucky’s hand on the small of his back steadying him, and sucks in a shaky breath when Steve presses Jefferson’s palm to Derek’s face. Steve slows Derek’s movements, pulling out then pushing back in at an angle so Jefferson can feel Steve’s dick pressing against his hand. Derek moans when Jefferson traces the head through his cheek.

“That’s so good,” Steve murmurs, his voice showing the strain on his control. “Get his pants open, Buck,” Steve adds, fingers guiding Jefferson’s exploration.

Jefferson thinks Steve is talking about Derek until Bucky’s fingers find the fastenings on the front of his leather pants. Within moments, Bucky has them open and pulls Jefferson’s aching cock out. He strokes Jefferson hard and fast, and Jefferson nearly doubles over from the blinding relief of being released from the tight confine of his pants.

Steve uses his grip on Derek’s throat to hold him still as he pulls his dick from Derek’s mouth. When Derek tries to follow it, Steve tightens his fingers, and Derek lets out a breathy moan. “I’m going to fuck you now,” Steve says, releasing Jefferson’s hand so he can tap on Derek’s cheek. When Derek opens his eyes, wet with tears, he gazes up at Steve with utter devotion that Jefferson recognizes. “Is that okay?” Steve continues.

“Y-yes.” Derek’s voice is even huskier than before, but he shows no hesitation.

Steve tugs Jefferson closer as he steps away, positioning Jefferson in front of Derek. “While I do, I want you to suck Jefferson off. You don’t come until he does. Okay?”

Derek blinks, then gazes up at him with the same devotion he’d shown Steve. Jefferson’s breath catches in his throat when Derek licks his lips and nods before saying, “Yes, please.”


	19. Chapter 19

Derek is no blushing virgin, but hedonism of this proportion has never been a part of his life.

While Stiles’ fantasies cover a healthy range of experimentations, Derek never imagined himself on his hands and knees in the middle of their living room, sucking cock while thick fingers slick in and out of his hole. It’s strange, almost like an out-of-body experience, but it’s also hot as hell.

Jefferson’s cock, though not as thick as Steve’s, is a delicious weight on his tongue. His gentle fingers thread through Derek’s hair, holding Derek still as he thrusts down Derek’s throat in long, measured strokes. Derek doesn’t remember how or when he lost his clothes, but he’s naked while everyone else is still dressed. He feels small, vulnerable, but one look toward Stiles stills the tremors coursing through him.

Stiles, beautiful, loyal,  _ smart _ Stiles is gazing at him with such love and awe in his tawny brown eyes. As if Derek’s doing something amazing and not just a willing receptacle. Sometimes, even after all these years, Derek still wonders what Stiles sees in him. Sometimes he even dares to imagine that, perhaps, he  _ is _ as good as Stiles seems to think he is.

“So good for me.” Steve’s deep voice thrills through him, and Derek can’t help his happy whimper. If both Stiles and Captain America think he’s good…

Metal fingers stroke Derek’s cheek, and Bucky’s face comes into focus as he kneels next to Jefferson. Derek tenses. A part of him still wants to rip Bucky’s throat out, but the other part, the part with arousal running rampant through his body, wants to taste Bucky’s mouth. He growls and sucks a sharp breath through his flaring nostrils.

“God, Stevie, I think he’s ready for your dick,” Bucky says with a grin. Derek’s frown deepens, and Bucky’s eyes soften as Derek shudders. “He’s gonna take real good care of you. It’s what he does.”

Without another word, Bucky turns and kisses Jefferson’s thigh, plump lips trailing up until he pulls Jefferson’s sack between his teeth and tugs. Jefferson gasps and jumps, his hips snapping forward as his grip tightens around Derek’s hair. But Derek hardly notices the pain and the sudden thrust down his throat when something much bigger and hotter slides into him from behind.

Derek’s eyes widen, and his chest constricts as Steve’s cock fills him to the brim. Bucky eases Jefferson’s cock from Derek’s lips and kisses him, his tongue licking at the corners of Derek’s mouth. “Breathe, doll, you gotta breathe.” Cool fingers grip Derek’s chin and forces his head back until he’s looking into a pair of winter-grey eyes. “Everything about Captain America is fucking huge, isn’t it?”

The whine that fills the open space isn’t Derek’s. Derek turns and stares at Stiles, who’s biting his own white knuckles so hard Derek’s afraid he’ll break skin. “Fuck,” Stiles murmurs to no one in particular, his wild eyes darting from Derek to behind him then back to Derek again. “This is the hottest fucking thing ever. I can die happy now. Yup. Mhm. So happy.”

Derek chuckles, but the sound turns into a grunt when Steve pulls out and slides back into him. Large hands grip his hips, yanking him back to meet the next thrust, and Derek’s vision explodes with stars. The velvety head of a cock presses between his lips, and Derek sucks it into his mouth without thought.

“Keep your eyes on Stiles,” Bucky whispers in his ear. “Look how much he loves seeing you like this.” Bucky’s flesh hand wraps around Derek’s straining erection, and Derek startles then chokes on Jefferson’s cock when Bucky squeezes.

His body floats on a sea of pleasure and pain. He’s stuffed on both ends, his cock in the hands of a man who obviously knows his way around an erection. He’s naked, taking dick like a bitch in heat, yet there’s no shame in what he’s allowing to be done to him. No guilt, no self-loathing. Only a burst of warmth when he locks eyes with Stiles and catches the heavy scent of Stiles’ arousal.

Stiles was right. Derek craves this. Craves to be held down and used and made to become a creature that thrives on pure sensation. But all of this is made better because Stiles wants this for him, too, and gave it to him. Just one more thing to add to the long list of good things Stiles has given him since he came into Derek’s life.

Steve’s thrusts grow harder, deeper, more demanding, and Jefferson’s hushed moans are more desperate with every stroke of Derek’s tongue. Bucky’s grip on his cock is driving him insane, but he can’t come, not until Jefferson does. Amidst all the pounding hearts and ragged breaths, Derek focuses on the one heart whose beat he knows intimately and staves off his own mounting pleasure.

“Jefferson, sweetheart,” Bucky says and leans over to mouth at the base of Jefferson’s dick, and Derek offers Bucky a silent gratitude. “Come. Come in his throat for me, baby.”

It’s as if Bucky flipped a switch. Jefferson’s fingers twitch, and that’s all the warning Derek gets before ropes of salty come coat the back of his throat. Derek swallows, his tongue licking and coaxing, milking every drop of Jefferson’s musky release. His eyes are fixed on Stiles, and the bob of Stiles’ Adam’s apple and the love on his face urges Derek to lap at Jefferson’s softening cock with even more eagerness.

Stiles whimpers, and the surging sweet aroma of his arousal wraps around Derek like a vice. His cock twitches in Bucky’s fist, and Steve hits that spot inside him with relentless precision, but Derek can’t come. Won’t come until–

And there it is. A subtle nod, a hitched breath, and Stiles gives him the go-ahead to let go. To drown in the pleasure he’s been treading in since he dropped to his knees for Steve.

Jefferson’s cock slips from his lips just as the pressure in his gut explodes. Derek screams, then Bucky’s lips crush to his as his muscles lock and the world turns blinding white behind his eyelids.


	20. Chapter 20

Derek’s lips go lax as Steve groans with his release, and Bucky crowds in to hold Derek up as Steve rocks to a stop behind him. Steve meets Bucky’s eyes over Derek’s sweat-matted head and Bucky can read the question there.  _ Is he okay?  _ It’s the same wordless communication they perfected on the battlefield, the one they use to avoid upsetting Tony when he’s particularly prickly. 

Bucky gives him a nod and a fond smile. Steve is always looking out for everyone else before himself. Derek shudders, his whole body convulsing when Steve pulls out of him, and Bucky tightens his arms, shifting Derek almost into his lap. Derek whimpers and Bucky brushes damp hair from his forehead. “That’s it, relax now. You did good.”

Pale green eyes flutter open, but Derek doesn’t focus on Bucky. Instead, his eyes search for someone behind them. Bucky doesn’t have to turn to know who it is. No matter where they are in the room, Stiles and Derek are drawn to each other like magnets. Kind of like him and Steve and Tony—Bucky raises his eyes and finds light blue ones looking back at him—and maybe now like Jefferson, too.

“Go take care of him,” Tony says, and a moment later Stiles drops to his knees at Bucky’s side. 

Stiles runs his hands through Derek’s hair and down Derek’s back, the entire time keeping up a stream of words that rivals Tony at his most talkative. “That was so hot,” he says, stroking Derek’s side. “You were amazing. Was is good? ‘Cause, man, I gotta tell you, it looked good. You looked like you were blissed out of your mind.”

Derek rouses himself enough to transfer his weight to Stiles, and Bucky slips away to give them some privacy. Well, maybe not privacy, because he’s still sitting back on his haunches  _ right there _ , but at least some space.

“Love you,” Derek says, pressing a soft kiss to Stiles’ temple. He drapes his arms around Stiles’ neck, half on the floor and half propped on Stiles’ lap.

Stiles beams at him. “Love you too, babe. Are you okay?”

Derek takes a moment and then smiles. He looks younger and more relaxed, and Bucky almost has a hard time believing he’s the same guy who threatened them when they first arrived.

“Yeah, it was—” Derek looks up at Steve, then flicks his attention to Jefferson, who has pulled his pants up and slunk over to hover near Steve. “It was really good. I liked it.”

Stiles draws in a deep breath and blows it out quickly. “Good. That’s good. I was worried it would freak you out.”

“It did at first,” Derek admits. He cups his hand around Stiles’ thigh to brace himself and sits up, and Stiles hisses sharply. “Did I hurt you?” Derek asks, concern filling his voice. He pulls back and studies Stiles’ face.

Colour floods Stiles’ cheeks and he groans, tugging at the crotch of his pants as if he can stretch them to make more room. His jeans are unbuttoned, but there’s no way that’s comfortable. “No, I’m, it’s okay,” he says, fluttering one hand in front of Derek’s face to distract him.

Bucky glances at Stiles’ lap and bites back a chuckle. The kid’s hard-on looks just as uncomfortable as Bucky’s. Derek’s nostrils flare as if he can smell Stiles’ arousal. Though, being a freaky werewolf, he probably can.

Derek scowls. “You didn’t—”

“It’s okay,” Stiles quickly assures him. He leans in, his mouth covering Derek’s, and for a moment they get lost in a heated kiss. A kiss that does nothing to help Bucky’s own raging hard-on fade. Damn, they look good like that. Stiles is breathing heavy when they break apart. “As long as you enjoyed it,” he pants.

The scowl is even more pronounced when Derek shakes his head. He stares at Stiles for a few long moments and then sighs. He looks up and meets Bucky’s eyes before glancing behind Bucky. 

Bucky turns to see Tony watching them with undisguised lust. Bucky is usually all for Tony’s hedonism, but even he isn’t callous enough to get between Stiles and Derek. And not just because the idea of killing Derek doesn’t appeal to him. “Tony,” Bucky says with a warning in his voice. “Don’t—”

“You should do it,” Derek blurts suddenly. When Bucky looks back, it isn’t revulsion or anger in his eyes, but a wary sort of encouragement.

Stiles frowns and looks between Bucky, Tony, and Derek. “Do what?”

“You should have your fantasy, too.”

Stiles does an almost comical double take, and Bucky is pretty sure his own expression is amusing. “No, I don’t, I mean, that’s okay. I don’t need to. I’ll just take care of this upstairs and—”

“I don’t want you to fuck him,” Derek interrupts, looking over Bucky’s shoulder again. “You can do anything else he wants. I want him to feel good, but not...that.”

Tony comes up beside Bucky, and Bucky turns just in time to see him nod. “Sure, yeah, we can do that.” Bucky’s cock, already uncomfortably hard, twitches. Tony Stark’s sex drive—not Hydra—is going to be the death of him someday.

“Are you sure?” Stiles asks, cupping Derek’s cheek. “I don’t need to.”

“But you want to.”

Stiles gives him a lopsided grin. “Well, duh. Have you seen them?”

“Then you should do it.” He gives Stiles a hard, possessive kiss, then gets to his feet and helps Stiles up. “Just remember who you belong to.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “As if I could forget.”

Bucky tamps down his excitement at this turn of events and gives Tony a look to try to gauge how Tony is going to play it. Before he can take even half a step toward Stiles, Steve interrupts.

“Come here,” Steve says, taking a few steps over to sit down on the couch. He holds one hand out to Jefferson and the other to Derek. They both go to him, curling into either side of him. Derek’s eyelids flutter when Steve drags a comforting hand down his bare side.

Bucky smiles, not just at the incredibly hot picture they make, but at the way Steve always seems to know exactly what someone needs. The smile gets wider when Steve tugs a blanket from the back of the couch and tucks it around Derek’s naked body.

“Now,” Steve says, pulling both Derek and Jefferson in so he can hold them. “Relax and enjoy the show.”     


	21. Chapter 21

If Stiles was in a Bugs Bunny episode, he’d be rolling his tongue back in his mouth and snapping his jaw shut. Because Derek freaking Hale just took an order from a near stranger. Sure, said stranger happens to be Captain America—who only minutes ago fucked Derek’s brains out—but he’s still a stranger.

Stiles doesn’t dwell on the thought for long, though, because Tony fucking _Ironman_ Stark is reaching for him with a wicked gleam in his eyes. Holy mother of God, has anyone ever turned down _that_ look before? If the comics are anything to go by, Stiles already knows the answer. As Tony passes Bucky, they share a look Stiles can’t decipher, and a knowing grin splits Bucky’s amazingly pretty face. Seriously, what’s a century-old assassin got any business looking so pretty?

Tony stops in front of Stiles, his hazel eyes raking along Stiles’ body as if undressing him, probably _is_ undressing him, and says, “Can’t fuck you, hm? We’ll have to get creative.”

Stiles swallows and glances past Tony to Derek. Their eyes meet, and Derek nods as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. God, he may actually enjoy watching this. Turning back to Tony, Stiles grins. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“Me? No kid, we’re in this together.” Tony arches an eyebrow and leans in to press a kiss to the corner of Stiles’ lips. Stiles’ breath hitches, but before he can chicken out, he grasps the front of Tony’s shirt and yanks him in for an open-mouthed kiss.

Tony responds with a sweep of tongue and a delighted hum. He strokes up Stiles’ arms and shoulders, one hand stopping to cup Stiles’ jaw while the other continues up to thread through his short-cropped hair. Fuck, Tony Stark knows how to _kiss_ , and it takes every trick Stiles has to keep up with him. The room fades, his worries with it, and Stiles loses himself in the nip of Tony’s teeth and press of his lips.

A soft growl and Stiles freezes, but the sound isn’t from Derek. Bucky’s metal arm whirs as he threads his arms around Tony’s waist from behind. He rests his chin on Tony’s shoulder as Tony pulls away from the kiss, leaving Stiles dizzy and breathless. “Don’t stop on my account,” Bucky says with a Cheshire grin, and Stiles shudders as Bucky licks up Tony’s neck.

Tony chuckles, but Stiles doesn’t miss his shiver when Bucky nibbles on his ear. “You’re very distracting, Barnes.”

“Deal with it, sweetheart.” Bucky sucks Tony’s earlobe between his lips and slips his metal hand down the front of Tony’s pants, and Stiles nearly creams himself right there. Fuck. They’re so hot. _So_ hot.

Tony spreads his legs and shrugs, then reaches for Stiles once more. Their lips meet, and this time, Stiles can’t help his high-pitched whimper when Tony bites down on his bottom lip. They’re just kissing, and Stiles is already losing his mind. His cock, already granite hard from watching Derek, twitches in his tightass jeans and gets even harder. Stiles is both shocked and impressed it can even _get_ harder.

As if reading his mind, nimble fingers work open the button on his jeans and pull down the zipper. But Tony’s hands are still in his hair. Must be Bucky. God, once this is all over, Stiles is so sending the Winter Soldier a fruit basket. Cool metal darts along his skin as Bucky pushes his jeans and boxers down his legs, and Stiles steps out of them without breaking away from Tony’s kiss even though his lungs are screaming and the skin on his chin smarts from the rub of Tony’s stubble.

Stiles loves kissing Derek, but it’s not like he had opportunities to kiss a lot of people _before_ Derek, and definitely not since. Kissing Tony is like a religious experience, and Stiles isn’t sure how much more he can take when Tony pulls away. A rush of cool air jolts Stiles out of his kiss-drunken stupor when Tony grips the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head. He doesn’t resist, letting it happen as he plays the willing captive.

His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, and his eyes widen as he drinks in the man who scrambled his brain via a single kiss.

_When did Tony get naked? And oh boy is he excited to see me._

Tony winks at him, then his gaze travels down Stiles’ body and stops at the junction of his legs. “That looks like it can use a little TLC.” He points at Stiles’ erection and smirks. Before Stiles can utter something nonsensical in response, Tony drops to his knees and licks Stiles’ cock from base to tip.

“Oh fuck,” Stiles exclaims on a huff of air and falls forward. Bucky catches him from behind and holds him close, his hot breath tickling Stiles’ ear. How Bucky is just everywhere is beyond Stiles. Must be an assassin thing.

Tony kisses the tip of Stiles’ cock. “Hmm, just as I suspected. You got a pretty cock, kid.”

“I’m—fuck—” Stiles tenses against Bucky when Tony nibbles the ridge of his cockhead. “Not a k-kid.”

Tony grins up at him through thick lashes. “Prove it.” His gaze shifts to Bucky, and they nod. Tony turns and lays down on the floor, his head between Stiles’ feet, his hard cock standing thick and proud between his spread legs.

Bucky nudges the back of Stiles’ knees, and it takes him a second to figure it out. But when he finally does, Stiles’ mouth waters and a blurt of precome rolls from the tip of his cock. He drops to his knees without further urging and licks a wet path down Tony’s chest and stomach as he positions his lips on top of Tony’s erection. “Is this what you had in mind?” Stiles asks as he nuzzles Tony’s cock, and Tony’s hips thrust up in response.

“Yeah, fuck, show me how well you suck cock, Stiles,” Tony says as he grasps the base of Stiles’ dick and gives it a squeeze.

 


	22. Chapter 22

Stiles closes his mouth over the head of Tony’s dick, slurping noisily, and Derek growls. The sound vibrates up from his chest and Steve feels it all along his side. Steve untangles his hand from the blanket he used to cover Derek and skates it up to cup the back of Derek’s neck. He squeezes gently, not hard enough to hurt or control, but just enough to steady Derek. 

It works. After another moment, Derek settles against Steve’s side, the rumbling growl subsiding. But his eyes, glowing that eerie blue again, stay pinned on Stiles and Tony.

Steve knows how Derek feels. There was a time when he’d thought of himself as old-fashioned, possessive, when he couldn’t imagine sharing his lover with someone else. Of course, there was also a time when he couldn’t climb a flight of stairs without almost passing out. A time when he thought he’d never see Bucky again. A time when he thought Tony Stark was a pompous ass. 

Okay, that last part is still true some days.

But watching Tony and Bucky with Stiles doesn’t fill Steve with jealousy anymore. When Tony moans around Stiles’ cock, Steve’s own cock twitches. When Bucky drags his fingernails down Tony’s chest, then leans over to kiss the back of Stiles’ neck, Steve only feels pride that he can consider these two men his.

Stiles lifts his head from Tony’s dick, his lips shiny with saliva and a glassy sheen to his eyes even as he finds Derek on the couch, and Steve recognizes what Tony sees in the kid. He’s gorgeous like this. Easily less than half Bucky’s size, it’s a shame Derek won’t let Bucky fuck him. As strong as Buck is, he could pick Stiles up and hold him against the wall as he fucks into him. That’s something Steve would love to see.

Stiles’ head falls back and he groans. “Fuck, I’m—if you don’t stop, this is going to be over real fast.”

Tony snickers around Stiles’ length. He hollows his cheeks and sucks harder, one hand slipping up to fondle Stiles’ balls. Stiles’ hips jerk, shoving his cock farther into Tony’s mouth. Tony gags, his eyes filling with tears, and Stiles’ starts to pull away with a distressed whine. “Sorry, sorry,” he mutters. 

Bucky’s hand on his hip stills him. “He can take it,” Bucky says, leaning in claim Stiles’ mouth in a molten kiss. “In fact, he loves to choke on it. He’ll take whatever you give him.” He trails his fingers down over Stiles’ ass and drags one digit down the crack. Stiles jumps and Tony gags again, but this time, Stiles doesn’t pull away. Instead, he pistons his hips a few times, forcing his cock deeper and harder into Tony’s mouth.

When Bucky parts Stiles’ ass cheeks and circles one finger around Stiles’ hole, the grumbling protest starts again. Derek’s entire body tenses and Jefferson shifts uncomfortably. Steve drops a quick, soothing kiss on Jefferson’s forehead and tightens his fingers around Derek’s neck another degree.

“They won’t do anything you don’t want them to,” Steve murmurs in Derek’s ear. “Bucky will play with him, make him feel good, but he won’t take what is yours.”

Derek shudders, and Steve can feel how much he wants to let go of his fear. “Stiles—he…”

“I know,” Steve says, grazing his lips across Derek’s cheekbone. “I know what he means to you. They mean the same thing to me.” 

Jefferson tenses, starts to pull away, and Steve tightens his hold. Bucky was skittish the first year after he came back, needing constant reassurance, and Jefferson reminds Steve of him from those days. Despite Bucky’s current swagger, he and Jefferson are similar in more than their looks. Jefferson doesn’t hold the same place in Steve’s heart as Bucky and Tony, but he’s come to mean quite a bit to Steve in such a short time. He compliments their little unit in a way that no one else ever has. Steve makes a mental note to spend some time bolstering Jefferson a little once this is over.

Turning his attention back to Derek, Steve tugs him in so his ear is pressed against Steve’s lips. “Watch them,” he whispers, lips grazing the shell of Derek’s ear. “See how he looks for you? It doesn’t matter what they do, how they touch him, it will always be about you. You’re his center of gravity.”

Derek shivers and Steve turns his attention back to the men across the room. Stiles’ entire body glistens with a sheen of sweat and his muscles quiver as he thrusts into Tony’s mouth over and over. A steady soundtrack of grunts and moans accompany the sight. 

“I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come,” Stiles pants.

Bucky presses the pad of his metal thumb against Stiles’ rim. “Go ahead, let go. Come for us.”

Stiles’ body shakes with the strength of his release. His eyes snap open, but it isn’t Tony or Bucky he’s looking at. He stares at Derek the whole time, and Steve can almost feel the magnetic pull from their locked gazes. Stiles keeps his eyes on Derek until the final shockwaves pass through him, then collapses back against the floor with a sharp thud, his chest heaving.

Derek’s breathing, which had picked up to match the staccato timing of Stiles’ moans, hitches when Bucky doesn’t even give Stiles time to recover before he pulls him up.

“Scoot back against the wall,” Bucky orders him gruffly.

“Wha—huh?” Stiles slurs. “You’re gonna have to wait for my legs to start working again.”

Bucky chuckles. “The wall will hold you up.” He positions Stiles and Tony how he wants them, like a storefront mannequin tableau, and it only takes a few moments for Steve to see what Bucky is going for. When he’s done, Stiles is kneeling with his back against the wall, softening cock hanging between his slightly spread legs, and Tony is standing with his arms braced against the wall above Stiles’ head. Tony’s back is arched slightly, his legs spread, and the position places him in a perfect position for Stiles to close his lips around Tony’s cock again. Once they’re arranged, Bucky shoves his pants down his thighs and slicks up his thick cock.

Derek’s sharp intake of breath makes Steve smile. He slides his hand down from Derek’s neck, under the blanket, and he’s not surprised to find that Derek is hard again. “Do you want to come again?” he asks, grazing his fingertips down Derek’s shaft. 

Steve laughs when Derek’s hips buck upwards, pushing his dick against Steve’s hand. “Please,” he groans.

“You lean back and watch the show,” Steve says, jacking Derek’s dick, almost fully hard again, with a long, slow stroke. Across the room, Bucky is lining up and pushing into Tony, who keens when Stiles sucks hard on his cock at the same time. “I think you’re going to enjoy this.” 


	23. Chapter 23

Jefferson doesn’t understand what’s going on. Yes, he gets that an orgy involving incredibly gorgeous men is unfolding in front of him, but he doesn’t understand how any of them are okay with it. 

When Steve, Bucky, and Tony welcomed him into their bed, Jefferson assumed it was because of his resemblance to Bucky. Maybe they were fulfilling some sort of kinky fantasy or maybe they took a liking to him. Now, it’s apparent they just like other handsome men, and they’ll get naked with any strangers who tickle their fancy. 

He should be flattered, but all Jefferson feels is the crushing weight of disappointment.

Steve’s elbow brushes against Jefferson’s arm as he jerks Derek’s cock, and every slide of skin is a reminder that Steve is lavishing attention on someone else, someone he’d just met. Jefferson swallows and tries to quell the waves of jealousy rolling through him, but when he avert his eyes, he’s assaulted with the image of Tony’s cock sliding down Stiles’ throat, and Bucky’s the one shoving him deeper. 

It’s all incredibly erotic, better than porn he finds on the internet, but his arousal is laced with the bitter truth that he’s just another pretty face. He means nothing to these men. They’re not cruel; they treat Jefferson with tenderness and care. But at the end of the day, Jefferson is just another pretty face passing through, another warm body for them to hold and use and discard when they’re satisfied. 

Steve, Bucky, and Tony belong to each other. 

Jefferson shrinks in his seat and curses his cock as it stands throbbing and leaking between his thighs. He wants to touch it, but the idea of caving to that desire is like admitting he’s worthless. So he ignores the heat pooling in his gut and the bump of Steve’s elbow. Ignores the grunts and moans and whimpers as Bucky slams into Tony with so much force that Tony’s pelvis jams Stiles’ head into the wall. 

This is the universe punishing him for his crimes. For everything he put Grace through. Now he gets to know what it feels like to be left behind and forgotten. To be cast away when he’s overstayed his welcome. He’ll pay for his sins forever, and maybe he needs to come to terms with that instead of hoping for his own stupid fairytale. 

Steve’s arm moves in a blur and Derek’s growls cut through Jefferson’s thoughts. Jefferson blinks back tears and watches Bucky hold Tony as Tony grips Stiles’ head in both hands. His hips stutter, and Bucky reaches around and grips Tony’s balls in his metal hand and the room rings with Tony’s wrung out cry. 

Stiles’ eyes widen and his Adam’s apple bobs as his throat works, and when Tony’s body goes boneless, Bucky picks up his pace and thrusts so hard Jefferson’s ass clenches in sympathy. But Tony doesn't seem bothered as he leans his head back against Bucky’s shoulder, his eyes screwed shut and his glistening lips parted as Bucky tenses behind him. 

Watching Bucky empty into Tony is incredible. All that muscle bunching and tensing, that metal arm whirring as Bucky clutches Tony close. Firm, but not crushing. Jefferson doesn’t dare wish for someone to hold him the way Bucky holds Tony. The way Steve held them both when Jefferson found them on the couch in the apartment. 

Beside him, Steve is whispering. Jefferson can’t make out the words, but judging by Derek’s whimpering whines and the way Stiles is focused on him, Jefferson has no doubts that Derek’s coming over Steve’s hand. 

Stiles and Derek. Another couple who has found their center in each other. Derek is so protective of Stiles, and Stiles is so incredibly generous. They offered to help without question, offered to fix Jefferson’s hat even though they don’t owe them any kindness. And their love for each other is palpable and selfless. How many people are so secure in their relationship that they could offer up their partner to be a part of an orgy simply because they think the other will enjoy it? Guarded possessiveness is all Jefferson’s ever known, and this whole scene in front of him is baffling. 

Jefferson snorts and he can’t help the bitterness oozing out of him. Of course he’s surrounded by lovesick people who are drunk on happiness. A reminder that only good people get happy endings. 

Steve presses his come-covered fingers to Derek’s lips, and Derek laps at them until Steve’s hand is clean. All eyes are on Derek, and Jefferson’s irritated at the pang of jealousy coursing through him. With his soft, parted lips and his eyes wild as the raging sea, Derek is beautiful as he sags against Steve. 

A large arm circles Jefferson’s shoulders, and before he can resist, he’s pressed against the hard plane of Steve’s side. It’s solid and safe here, and Jefferson allows himself to melt against Steve’s strength, even if it’s temporary. 

Bucky deposits a floppy Tony against Jefferson’s other side, and Jefferson wraps a protective arm around him instinctively. It just feels like the right thing to do. Tony snuggles against him, and the cocoon of warmth from the two men almost chases away the voices in his head. Bucky gathers Stiles into his arms and takes a seat at Steve’s feet, arranging Stiles in his lap so Derek can run shaky fingers through Stiles’ hair. 

It’s a dogpile of superheros and magical creatures and Jefferson, and he wonders, idly, if the couch is going to collapse under their weight. Stiles is the first to make a soft noise, which turns into little chuckles until he’s full on giggling. 

“Okay, that was better than any wet dream I could have cooked up.  _ Ever. _ ” He sighs and nuzzles Bucky’s jaw, eliciting a chuckle from Bucky as well. “I think I’m a little sex drunk.”

“Glad to be of service,” Bucky says and presses a kiss to the top of Stiles’ head. Derek growls, and Bucky turns and winks at him. “Calm your jets. His pretty little ass is still all yours.”

Derek grumbles, and Jefferson doesn’t need to see his face to know he’s probably blushing. Jefferson shifts, his cock still half hard between his legs, and Steve notices before he can hide it. 

“Should we take care of that?” he asks, and his tone is only half teasing.

“Oh, no. I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine to me.” Bucky turns around and looks up at Jefferson through thick lashes. His voice is soft, but the weight it carries crushes Jefferson’s lungs until it’s hard to breathe. “Now, why don’t you tell us what’s on your mind, doll?”

Jefferson sits stunned. How does Bucky know? He wasn’t even with Jefferson, and Jefferson didn’t think Bucky paid him all that much attention. But he obviously did. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jefferson lies. He hides his face in Steve’s shoulder, hoping the floor would open up. Or his hat would start working. That would also be great. 

“Don’t be like that,” Steve says and shifts so he can look Jefferson in the eye. “You know we want to help.”

“You don’t have to. It’s really not—just forget about what I said earlier.” Jefferson sighs. He’s so tired he doesn’t want to talk. Why can’t they just let him enjoy this moment before he’s home and alone again? “I’m content just being here. Please—” 

“I know it’s not really my place—” A large hand touches Jefferson’s knee. He looks up and finds Derek’s intense gaze on him. “But I overheard you talking to Steve early, and I think you and I may have more in common than you think.” 

 


	24. Chapter 24

Derek has gotten better at talking about his feelings. 

Sure, he’s still not great at it. Sometimes Stiles has to plop himself on top of Derek and refuse to move until Derek says what’s on his mind. And sometimes it takes weeks before Derek is able to put words to whatever is churning inside him. But Stiles has this way of pulling things out of him that he never thought he’d be able to say out loud. He’s still shit at it, but he’s gotten  _ better. _

There’s something about Jefferson, with his sad grey eyes and the scent of shame clinging to him. Something that tugs at Derek and reminds him of the way that same scent used to permeate his every waking moment. Before Stiles.

Derek clears his throat and squeezes Jefferson’s knee. “Sometimes bad things happen because of something you did, but that doesn’t mean it’s your fault.” 

Stiles has told Derek that hundreds of times. He kissed it into Derek’s neck and breathed it into his ear. When Derek couldn’t stand to hear it, Stiles made the shape of the words with his lips against Derek’s bare skin. Derek didn’t always believe it, but Stiles believed it enough for both of them. Derek isn’t sure when the thing inside him that held onto the guilt and regret shifted, but somewhere along the way, he let go of it and Stiles rushed in to fill the void that was left behind. 

Jefferson tenses, his scent going even sharper and more acidic with surprise and humiliation. “I’m not—I mean—you don’t know…” His eyes are wide and ringed with tears as he trails off. 

Derek shrugs. “I don’t know. Not the specifics. Not what makes you think you don’t deserve to feel good. But I know the look in your eyes.” Stiles makes an unhappy sound and wraps his hand around Derek’s calf, and Derek bends to press a kiss to his temple before looking back at Jefferson.

“The things I did—”

“Are in the past,” Steve says with a frown. He tightens his arm around Jefferson. “And Derek is right. Someone took advantage of you and you paid the price. You need to forgive yourself.”

Jefferson shakes his head, spikes of dark hair falling over his forehead to cover one eye. “I’ll never be able to make it up to Grace.”

“She’s alive isn’t she?” Derek asks, and his tone must be sharper than he intended because Jefferson shrinks back in Steve’s arms.

“She is, but—”

“My entire family is dead because I trusted the wrong person,” Derek says, and  _ fuck _ , but his voice still cracks on the words. Even after all this time, the hot curl of grief and regret churns in his stomach.

“Derek,” Stiles says, worry in his voice. He shifts in Bucky’s arms to reach for Derek, but Derek waves him away.

“I’m okay,” he says, even though there will always be a part of him that hates talking about it. He raises Stiles’ hand and kisses the palm before turning back to Jefferson. “You have a chance to make a difference. Don’t throw it away by drowning yourself in guilt. It’s a chance I’ll never get.”

Jefferson curls in on himself with a shudder, and Tony presses himself closer to Jefferson’s side. “That’s easy for you to say,” Jefferson says, and the self-loathing radiating off him makes Derek cringe. “Stiles loves you and  _ everyone _ wants you.”

It takes Derek a moment. Stiles has always said that he’s crap at reading between the lines, but this time he gets it. It’s the emphasis Jefferson puts on ‘everyone’ that clues Derek in. When they propositioned them, Derek had been entirely focused on his own desire and how it would affect his relationship with Stiles. He’d never considered how it would affect them.

Bucky answers before Derek can put words to his thoughts. “We want you, too,” he says, shifting until Stiles crawls out of his lap and onto Derek’s. He rotates until he’s kneeling in front of Jefferson, and Jefferson is boxed in on all sides by superheroes. He meets Steve’s eyes and then Tony’s before shaking his head ruefully. “We should have checked in with you. Made sure you were okay with it.”

Jefferson blanches and shakes his head. “I’m not—I’m nobody—”

“You’re not nobody,’ Tony says with steel in his voice. “You’re with us. For as long as you want. And that means you have a say in what we do.” He presses a soft kiss on Jefferson’s cheek then quirks an eyebrow. “That’s what happens when we think with our dicks.”

“Speak for yourself, tin man,” Bucky says with a snort. 

Tony flips him off, but he’s smiling. His expression turns serious when he turns back to Jefferson. “I know it might not seem like it, but we do actually take this seriously. We don’t just jump into bed with anyone.“

“We asked them to do this,” Derek points out. “They didn’t seek us out.” The sheer amount of negative emotion roiling around Jefferson is starting to give him a headache. 

“They didn’t choose me, either,” Jefferson says, the ache of pain and disappointment in his words. “I don’t deserve—”

“That’s enough right there,” Steve says. He twists until his back is to Derek and Stiles so Jefferson is enclosed and engulfed by them. “You deserve everything good. And I’m sorry if anything we did made you feel like your feelings aren’t important to us.” He sends Tony and Bucky a meaningful look. “I think maybe we need to remedy that.”


	25. Chapter 25

As envious as he is of Derek, it was not Jefferson’s intention to invite all this attention onto himself. Yet, here he is, miraculously naked and boxed in on all sides by literal superheroes, and they want to worship him. 

If Steve’s tongue wasn’t licking into his mouth, if Bucky’s hands weren’t rubbing along his thighs, if Tony’s lips weren’t trailing down his shoulder, Jefferson would flee. A tiny, bitter part of him kicks and screams for attention, but Jefferson can’t focus. 

He’s still reeling. From the onslaught of petting and touching and kissing, and from Derek’s bold admission. Jefferson can’t imagine being the cause of Grace’s death. Can’t imagine what the guilt would do to him. Not sure if he’d even allow himself to  _ live _ if something he did cost Grace’s life. 

Judging by the crack in Derek’s voice and the tremor in his hands, he still battles with that guilt every day, but he’s alive. And so is Grace. 

Grace is alive, and what’s Jefferson doing? Nothing. Not a damn thing. He has a chance to make things right. A chance to be the father she deserves. Instead, he hides in his big house and makes hats and jerks off to loud music so he doesn’t have to listen to the sound of his own sobs when he’s done. 

He’s all kinds of pathetic. 

Jefferson tries to pull away, but Steve’s grip on his neck is solid and grounding, and his lips taste of safety. 

“I don’t get it either, having only met you,” Bucky murmurs against his inner thigh, his lips trailing light kisses along the thin skin there, “but the thought of you hurtin’ makes me mad.” He looks up at Jefferson through thick lashes, and his winter-grey eyes aren’t laughing. “Makes all of us mad.”

Jefferson’s breath hitches and he looks from Bucky to Steve to Tony, and the four of them share a moment of silence. 

“Let us, sweetheart,” Steve whispers with a nod, then leans in and kisses the corner of Jefferson’s lips with such tenderness his chest aches. 

Jefferson whimpers, his eyes fluttering shut as he turns and captures Steve’s lips. Fingers trace along his skin, hands and lips touching him everywhere. There’s so much going on, but he can still distinguish between Steve’s steadfastness and Bucky’s daring and Tony’s tenderness in the way they touch him. It’s only been a short while, yet Jefferson is so attuned to these men it scares him. 

They’ve been through so much and still manage to find solace in each other. To find love. Would it be so wrong to let them show him how to love again? Show him how to be the man Grace needs him to be? Steve’s lips trail along his jaw and down his neck, and Jefferson opens his eyes to find Derek and Stiles looking at him. 

They’re smiling, and Derek nods at him with a fierceness that chases away the darkness. His eyes glow that ominous blue, and it’s as if he’s whispering words of forgiveness and acceptance into Jefferson’s mind. 

Perhaps Jefferson deserves a second chance, too. Perhaps, with the guidance of these men, he can atone for his sins. 

Bucky nips his hip and Jefferson yelps. Deep chuckles echo around him, cocooning him in a bubble of mirth he hasn’t felt in a lifetime, and Jefferson smiles. 

“God you’re pretty when you smile,” Tony groans hotly into his ear. Jefferson whimpers even as his cheeks heat up. “And he blushes too. Were  _ you _ this adorable back in the day?” Tony turns to Bucky. 

“Stark—”

“Cool it, you two,” Steve says. His voice is stern, but his eyes are dancing with mischief when he turns to Tony. “Make a donation to the animal shelter next month and I’ll tell you how adorable Bucky was.”

Tony laughs even as Bucky growls, his teeth dangerously close to Jefferson’s balls. “Won’t let me buy you a decent sweater but charity’s fine?”

“What’s it going to be?” Steve’s jaw works as if he’s trying not to smile. 

“You know I already have it taken care of.”    

“Good,” Steve winks, and it’s incredible to see Captain America be so cheeky. “Guess it’ll be story time when we get home.”

Bucky growls again, or maybe he never actually stopped, but Jefferson yelps again when Bucky yanks his ass forward and pushes his thighs wide. Before Jefferson finds his balance, the flat of a wet tongue swipes against his hole, and Jefferson’s body locks in shock. 

Beside him, Steve’s breath catches and Tony groans. Bucky looks up and smirks. “That shut you all up, now we doin’ this or what?” He ducks back down and teases Jefferson’s opening with the tip of his tongue, and Jefferson gasps.

“Holy shit, Avengers assemble,” Stiles whispers with barely contained excitement, and even Jefferson can’t help but snort. 

Derek jabs Stiles in the ribs, and that’s the last thing Jefferson sees before spots dance in his vision when a hot mouth, Tony’s mouth, wraps around his erection. Steve laps at his left nipple, rolling the poor abused nub between his lips and teeth, then moves on to the right. 

It’s all wet tongues and hot mouths and persistent lips and there’s not a moment of reprieve from this onslaught of sensation and Jefferson can’t think. Can’t breath. Can’t remember a single bad thing in his life and he finally understands the true meaning of losing himself in another. Multiple others. 

Pressure builds deep within him, and he’s not sure how much more his body can take. Bucky’s tongue works inside him, thrusting in time with Tony’s mouth on his cock. And Steve kisses him everywhere. Every inch of skin and every dark corner of Jefferson’s mind. How can one person be the center of all this tender care and not fall in love, even just a little. And it feels right. It feels...magical. 

Jefferson tries to cry out, but his voice is hoarse and his lungs aren’t working. He’s so close he won’t need much of a push. Just a soft breeze and he’d tumble down the abyss and— 

_ If you're horny let’s do it, ride it, my pony _

_ My saddle's waiting, come and jump on it    _

“Shit! Shit shit shit!” Stiles’ frantic voice is accompanied by scrambling. 

“Seriously? That’s your ringtone, too?” Derek growls. 

“Thought we’d be matchy matchy,” Stiles replies sheepishly while digging for his pants in the pile of discarded clothes. 

Jefferson groans, but his companions don’t seem fazed by the interruption and turn their attention back to lavashing him. It doesn’t take long before Jefferson’s a panting mess despite the music as it plays on repeat. His body goes rigid, there’s so much heat, then swirling colours blind him as his orgasm washes over him. 

The song stops abruptly. Jefferson opens his eyes, but it’s not Derek and Stiles staring back at him. 


	26. Chapter 26

Life has thrown a lot of weird shit in Dean’s path over the years. Demons and hellhounds, wendigos and killer clowns. Hell, even Cas, the angel currently gone stock-still on his cock—beautiful body curling in on himself and massive black wings fluttering closed around them—started out as something unbelievable.

Portals into other dimensions are kind of old-hat at this point, but the hat spinning to a slow stop just a few feet from the bed is something entirely new. The four men who spilled out of it—naked and sprawled across his bedroom floor—are looking a little too wide-eyed for this to be an attack of some kind, so Dean squeezes his hands reassuringly on his angel’s hips and leans up to brush his lips across Cas’. “Why don’t you put those away so we can see what the fuck is going on?” he murmurs. 

Cas blinks, eyes darting from the men back to Dean, before nodding. With the familiar sickening lurch of Cas’ power in the pit of his stomach, Cas’ wings are there one moment and gone the next. He leverages himself up, wincing when Dean slips out, and with another blink they’re both clothed in sleep pants and t-shirts. The booming music—a raunchy song that started as a joke when Sam complained about being able to hear them through the walls—cuts out, leaving the room in silence. 

Dean stands up and gives Cas a grateful nod when he notices his gun is now lying within reach on the nightstand. He turns to their unexpected guests as they all scramble to their feet. The four men are a study in contrasts. Two are huge, muscled guys—the blond and the long haired one—who hold themselves like soldiers. Dean’s eyes widen a little when he notices the metal arm the one with the long hair is sporting. There has to be a story there. 

The third man is shorter, less imposing, but he surveys the room like he owns it, and it puts Dean’s hackles up. The last guy, as if the whole thing isn’t weird enough, looks identical to the long haired one, except he’s slender and his hair is short cropped. A ragged red scar circles his neck. All four are completely naked, which is a pretty shitty way to attack someone. 

It’s certainly a sight worth looking at, though. They’re all freaking gorgeous.

“Who wants to tell me what the hell is going on?” Dean says, rocking forward on the balls of his feet and settling his stance into something that hopefully looks relaxed but allows him to lunge for his gun if needed. Not that Cas’ powers aren’t probably a match for anything they could muster, but Dean hasn’t survived this long as a hunter without preparing for the worst.

The tall blond runs a hand through his short hair and smiles sheepishly, his cheeks tinged with red. “Uh, sorry for busting in on your privacy like that. It’s kind of a long st—”

“My hat brought us here,” the slender man interrupts, stepping closer to the blond. The man’s body language suggests that the blond is in charge. 

“Not so long,” the long haired guy says with a smirk.

“Your hat brought you here?” Dean raises one eyebrow and looks at Cas. 

Cas squints at the four men, then holds out his hand. The hat appears in his grasp. “This hat is magical, Dean,” he says. “It appears to be a portal to travel between dimensions.”

Dean frowns. He’s had enough portal-jumping to last him a while. “So like purgatory, or that bizarro world where me and Sam were actors?”

“Yes, exactly. These men are from another dimension.”

“Two, actually,” the blond says. He shifts his arm a little to allow it to brush against the slender man’s side as if comforting him. “Jefferson”—he motions toward the slender man again—”jumped into ours and now his hat keeps dragging us into different dimensions. This is our second one today. I’m Steve, that’s Bucky, and that’s Tony.” He gestures to himself, the metal-armed guy, and the shorter guy in turn.

Something familiar tickles the back of Dean’s brain, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. “I’m Dean and that’s Cas. Castiel. He’s an angel, if the wings didn’t give it away.”

“Like an angel of the Lord?” Steve asks, his voice awestruck.

“Yeah. Don’t get so impressed. Cas is pretty much the only one worth a damn. The rest of ‘em are dicks.”

“Dean,” Cas chastises.

“They are,” Dean insists with a little grin. “So you guys just passing through, then?”

“My hat has been acting very strange,” Jefferson says. “I’m unsure why it has been traveling without my intent. There are very specific rules that are supposed to govern how it works, but it hasn’t been following them.”

“So your hat kidnapped you?” Dean asks. He’s been hijacked through portals enough times to know that it sucks. “While you were all naked?”

This time it’s Tony who smirks. “That part actually is a long story.”


	27. Chapter 27

Gods, aliens, sentient robots, super soldiers. Steve thought he’d seen it all. Until now. Those wings were magnificent, and a part of Steve wants to take a closer look, perhaps stroke the inky feathers and see if they’re as soft as they looked. It’s such a random thought—and inappropriate—that Steve shakes his head and forces himself to follow the conversation instead.

“Long story, you say?” Dean cocks a brow at Tony and crosses his arms.

“And I’m not telling it until I get some clothes.” Tony crosses his arms as well, his expression mirroring Dean’s as he rocks onto the balls of his feet.

Silence hangs between them, and Steve is suddenly very aware of his nakedness as Dean and Castiel study them. Dean’s gaze is fleeting, his eyes darting between Steve and the others as if he can’t make up his mind where to look. Castiel’s gaze is pointed and intense—too intense—as his sharp blue eyes move between Steve and his companions. Steve shifts and angles his body, stopping only when he realizes he’s going into a defensive position.

Dean shakes his head and snorts. “Jesus. Just when shit couldn’t get any weirder.” He turns to Castiel, thrusting a thumb in Steve’s direction, and says, “Can’t you just zap them home?"

“I do not know which world they come from, Dean,” Castiel replies, a hint of exasperation in his voice. “I can’t just send them away. Things like inter-dimension travel have consequences.”

“What are the consequences of them popping out of a hat in my bedroom buck naked?”

“I don’t know, Dean.”

Dean rolls his eyes and walks over to his dresser. He pulls out two t-shirts and two pairs of sweatpants and throws them at Jefferson and Tony. “You two”—he points his chin at Steve and Bucky—“wait here.”

As if they have anywhere to go.

Dean ducks out of the room and reemerges minutes later carrying a stack of clothes. “These are my brother’s. Should fit.”

Steve buttons up the soft worn flannel shirt and something settles in the pit of his stomach as he regains a shred of modesty. He’s not ashamed of his body, but it’s not right to be naked in decent company.  

Once dressed, Dean waves for them to follow. For someone who’s just had four strangers pop out of a hat in his room while he was being intimate with his partner, Dean’s taking all of this in stride. Steve’s not sure what to make of that, but he’s glad Dean decided to not use the gun on his nightstand. That would have gotten messy, fast.

Steve nods at Bucky and Tony, then curves his lips into something he hopes is a reassuring smile at Jefferson before following Dean and Castiel out the door and into a hallway. Dean’s still talking, asking questions about multiple dimensions and travelling between them, and Castiel responds with infinite patience in his voice. Before long, they emerge into a wide room with a massive desk in the center, and the walls are lined with shelves upon shelves of books.

It smells like the library he used to go to before the war and the serum, smells like a place out of time. Smells like home. Steve inhales deeply and closes his eyes, lost in the scent of remembrance, and tries to ignore the pang of longing that’s never far from the surface of his consciousness.

“I’m no expert on magic and all that,” Dean says with a nose wrinkle and jazz hands, “but if there’s anything in this world that can help, it’s buried right here.”

“You’re helping us?” Bucky’s voice is light, but the whir of his metal arm gives away the tension winding through him.

“We got enough weird stuff going on, don’t need magical hats added to the mix.” Dean shrugs. “The sooner we get you home, the better.”

“Almost sounds like he doesn’t want us here.”

“Tony,” Steve warns.

“What, Cap? Just making observations. It’s literally what I do best—”

“Holy shit.” Everyone pivots toward the voice from the far side of the library. A really tall man with floppy brown hair gapes at them from the mouth of the hallway. “Dean? Why are Chris Evans, Robert Downey Jr., and Sebastian Stan standing in our library?”

Dean swings around and stares at them. “The who now?”

“Captain America, Iron Man, and the Winter Soldier. You don’t recognize them?” The tall man takes cautious steps toward them and joins Dean. “Dude, we watched all the movies together just last month. Is this another Paris Hilton thing?”

Dean swings his gaze back to them, eyes narrowing, brows furrowing, and Steve can’t help the twinge of appreciation that courses through him. Dean is very pretty.

“Sam is correct.” Castiel’s breath hitches, and his blue eyes widen. Steve wonders whether his wings would flinch as well if they were visible. “They are from the Marvel movies.”  

“Will you look at that,” Tony says with an amused chuckle. “We’re movie stars in this world too.”

“Oh my god.” Dean’s eyes widen into green saucers. “You’re right, holy shit. It _is_ them!”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel says with a hint of mockery. “If I recall correctly, and I always do, you had quite an affinity for Captain America and his tights.”

Steve’s mouth goes dry, tongue suddenly too thick as it sticks to the roof of his mouth, and his cheeks burn. Maybe not as hotly as the moment the serum entered his bloodstream, but close.  

“Does he now?” Bucky’s voice is low, smooth, just this side of dangerous, and Steve shivers at the look smoldering in his eyes.

Steve’s no prude. After seventy years under the ice, and even longer before they were reunited, he and Bucky decided to embrace life and live it to the fullest. Too many things could go wrong, and they had seventy years worth of living to make up for. With that discussion still fresh in their minds,Steve and Bucky approached Tony and welcomed him into their little world. Two made room for three, and their permanent formation always had room for temporary additions.

Three made room for four when Jefferson came crashing into their little bubble, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t even more room in their ridiculously large bed. World jumping and the potential of being stuck aside, Steve would be lying if he didn’t have the sight of Castiel and Dean etched in his mind. Black wings as wide as four arm spans on each side, feathers gleaming, and the men cocooned in their shimmering softness were a sight to behold.

Castiel studies Dean with an unreadable expression on his face, then turns toward Sam. “Come help me find the volume on inter-dimensional travel and I’ll fill you in.” His voice is firm, leaving no room for questions, and Sam’s eyes narrow as he lets himself be led away by the elbow.

“So,” Bucky says as he runs his metal hand through his hair, a twitching smirk tugging at his lips. “You got a thing for men in tights?”


	28. Chapter 28

There are a hundred—no, a thousand—things that rankle Bucky about the way his life has turned out. The shit he’s been through. The shit Steve’s been through. Hell, even the shit Tony has been through. 

The thing that bothers him the most, though, is how Steve takes the whole world on his—admittedly strong—shoulders. Back before the war, it was Bucky’s job to take care of Steve. To make sure Steve’s smart mouth wasn’t getting him into too much trouble. To make sure he didn’t blow all his money on art supplies. To make sure he had everything he needed.

Of course, Steve would never agree. He’d say—at best—that they took care of each other. And maybe there’s some truth to that. But now, after everything, Bucky hates being the one who needs to be taken care of. He wishes he could still take care of Steve. Could still give Steve everything he needs. Things Steve won’t even admit he wants.

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up at Bucky’s question and he glances from Bucky to Steve and back again with a slight tinge of red creeping across his cheeks. “Not so much tights,” he says, rolling his eyes, “but come on, man, Captain America is hot. Ain’t exactly news.”

Bucky looks at Steve and now  _ his _ cheeks are red, but Bucky just chuckles. “Pal, you don’t have to tell me.”

“Would you be serious, please,” Steve cuts in, stepping forward and drawing Dean’s gaze again. “We need to figure out why this is happening and how to get home.”

“I am being serious,” Bucky insists, giving Dean another smirk. “And if this is anything like last time, the hat will do its thing when it’s damn good and ready. No reason not to get to know the natives in the meantime.” 

Especially when one of those natives is a freaking angel. Steve might never admit it, but Bucky knows he sometimes misses the days when Bucky was stronger than him. When he could hold Steve down, or manhandle him right where he wanted him. Bucky can tell by the way Steve’s breath catches when he wraps his metal hand around Steve’s wrist. Or by the soft whimper when Tony pulls Steve’s hair a little too tight. Or the way Steve’s eyes go glassy when Tony bosses him around in bed.

Bucky might be stronger now, but the damage Hydra did is still a living thing inside him. He’s caused so much pain, been the instrument of so much horror, that he’s nowhere near a place where he could be that for Steve again. Tony, for all his ego and bluster, will never be stronger than Steve. Steve might let Tony push him around sometimes, but it will always be on Steve’s terms. 

But an angel… 

Bucky doesn’t know a lot about angels. His ma would roll over in her grave if he admitted he wasn’t even sure he believed in God anymore before today. Before he saw an angel with his own eyes. 

But from everything he learned in Sunday school, angels are strong, powerful, God’s warriors. Surely stronger than one measly super soldier. And given the scene they popped in on, they aren’t against engaging in the more carnal side of life.   

“If by ‘get to know’ you mean ‘have sex with,’ we’re not doing that this time,” Steve hisses, wrapping his hand around Bucky’s bicep and giving it a not-so-gentle shake.

Dean’s eyebrows shoot even higher. “This time?”

Bucky barely holds back his laugh at Steve’s frustrated groan, but it doesn’t matter, because Tony jumps in.

“This isn’t our first stop on the intergalactic booty-call rollercoaster,” Tony says, waggling his eyebrows in a way that Bucky finds both comical and somewhat disturbing. 

Mostly comical because of the way Steve huffs impatiently, “What happened last time was a fluke.”

“I’d say you balls deep in the werewolf was more than a fluke,” Tony says with a matching huff. 

Dean throws up his hands. “Whoa, wait. What the hell now? A werewolf?” He turns to Steve and gives him a disapproving look. “You had sex with a werewolf?”

Steve’s cheeks go even redder, flush creeping across his neck and up to his ears. “Well, uh, yes, but, you see, we were stranded and his boyfriend asked and…” Steve trails off and then sighs. “No, you know what? I don’t have to explain myself to you. You were having sex with an angel of the Lord!”

Dean doesn’t even look chagrined. “Better an angel than a werewolf. Sure, most angels are assholes, but most werewolves will eat your freaking heart.”

Steve frowns. “I don’t think Derek eats hearts. He has an espresso machine and an Instant Pot.”

Tony and Bucky both snigger at that. “Oh, man, Cap, you’re adorable,” Tony says, threading his arms around Steve’s neck and pulling him down to kiss his cheek. “No, I don’t think Derek eats hearts. I get the feeling werewolves are a bit different in this world than they are in that one.”

“I should freaking hope so,” Dean mutters. He glares at them for a moment, then flicks his eyes behind them. “And what about you? It’s your hat, right? Any idea why it’s dragging your asses all over?”

Jefferson flinches. “I, ah, I don’t know.”

Dean purses his lips, and Bucky can’t help but imagine what those lips would look like wrapped around his cock. “What were you doing when the hat started acting weird?” Dean asks.

This time, Jefferson flushes, his entire face going red, clear down to the pale scar around his neck. “I was—well, I was alone and then…” Jefferson looks at Steve and then Tony and then Bucky with panic in his eyes, and Bucky recalls what Jefferson looked like when he tumbled out of the hat. Pants shoved down his thighs, his stomach and softening dick still covered in come. It was pretty clear what Jefferson had been doing.

“He was jerking off,” Bucky says, sparing Jefferson from having to say it. Jefferson gives him a look that is equal parts mortified and relieved. 

Dean’s eyes go wide. “You guys are a horny bunch, aren’t you?”

“Says the guy who was boning an angel when we got here,” Bucky retorts.

Dean glares and then shrugs. “ Touché .”  He drags one hand through his hair and sighs. “Okay, so, you were cleaning the pipes when the hat scooped you up and dropped you off in superhero world.” He gives them a wry smile, his eyes lighting on the way Steve still grips Bucky’s arm. “I’m not even going to hazard a guess at what you were up to when he arrived. And then the hat dumped you in werewolf world, and, since you were pretty damn naked when you got here, I’m guessing you were going at it again when the hat dragged you here?”

Bucky sorts through the sequence of events and gives a nod. “Huh, yeah, when you lay it out like that, it seems pretty clear. We weren’t foolin’ around when the hat jumped us all the first time, but Stiles and Derek were when we got there.”

“So it’s pretty clear what the common denominator is,” Dean says.

Tony claps his hands. “Looks like we’re doing sex experiments after all.”

Steve huffs. “Tony.”

Tony gives Steve a smart ass grin. “For science?”


	29. Chapter 29

For as long as Castiel has observed humanity, he has never understood their obsession with monogamy. As a concept of possession, it makes sense to him, but possessing a person and loving them are two very different things. 

Castiel loves Dean Winchester. That is a fact no entity in existence can refute. Not even Heaven or Hell, God or the Devil. He knows Dean loves him too, and every day Dean proves his love in the things he does for Castiel. Like fixing his coffee and folding his laundry. Like having his back on a nasty hunt and taking Baby down an empty stretch of road at breakneck speed when Castiel misses flying with his brethren. 

Like giving up his earthly desires for other people because he thinks that’s what Castiel wants. And Castiel goes along with it to please Dean. At the end of the day, Dean’s happiness is top priority.

“For science?” Tony’s voice drifts down the hall.  

Castiel turns into the library and takes in the scene. Steve’s cheeks are pink, Bucky looks amused, Tony is down right giddy, and Jefferson looks like he’s about to throw up as he clutches his hat to his chest. “What did I miss?” Castiel asks, stopping beside Dean. 

“We’re hoping to conduct a science experiment,” Tony says, his eyebrows waggling so hard Castiel wonders if they have a life of their own. 

“Tony, please,” Steve pleads, but Tony only flashes him a big, blinding grin. 

“We think the hat only works when people are having  _ sex _ ,” Dean says, the emphasis on the word sex making Castiel’s own eyebrows shoot up. “Hat’s a fucking perv is what it is.”

“We don’t even know if that’s true,” Steve says a little louder this time. 

“We won’t know till we try,” Tony retorts.

Bucky rips off his—Sam’s—shirt and throws it over his shoulder. His metal arm whirrs, the overlapping slats of metal clicking as he flexes his fist. There’s a gleam in his eyes that puts Castiel on edge, like a trapped wild animal waiting for his chance to escape. 

“C’mon, Stevie, I know you got more left in you,” Bucky taunts and stalks toward Steve. 

“Fellas, flattered as I am, I ain’t agreeing to no sexperiments.” Dean steps between Steve and Bucky, and for a second Castiel fears for his life. 

“Sexperiments,” Tony chuckles, amused, and even Jefferson cracks a smile. “I like it.”

“You sure?” Bucky turns to Dean, and the look in his eyes sends a shiver down Castiel’s spine. Judging by Dean’s shudder, it has the same effect on him. “Captain America, the man of your wet dreams in the flesh.” Bucky turns to Castiel, his winter grey eyes flashing. “Angel of the Lord and super soldier in one day, now wouldn’t that be a treat?” 

Castiel glances at Dean. His cheeks are red, the blush spreading down to the collar of his shirt and up to the tips of his ears, and his freckles pop in stark contrast. “Me n’ Cas, we don’t do stuff like that,” Dean growls. 

“Don’t, or too afraid to?” Bucky takes a step toward Dean, and Castiel steps between them. He knows Dean can defend himself, but that doesn’t stop Castiel from wanting to shield and protect him. 

“We are monogamous, if that is what you are asking.” Castiel stares up into those wild eyes, and for a moment, fear and excitement thrill through him. He’s lived a long life, has faced many foes, creatures from Heaven and Hell and in between. Yet, something about Bucky pulls at a part of him Castiel doesn’t let loose. Is too afraid to let loose lest he hurt Dean in the process. 

Bucky holds his gaze for a long, tense moment, then his face splits into a knowing grin and he backs away. Tony touches Bucky’s elbow, and they share a look Castiel doesn’t understand. 

“If you’re not interested in helping,” Tony starts, his eyes still pinned on Bucky, “give us a room and we’ll help ourselves.” He turns and looks at Castiel, then Dean. “Your loss, though. Cap’s fantastic in bed.”  

“Wait, you mean, you’ll just”—Dean throws his hands up and looks between the four men—”get it on at the drop of a hat? No pun intended.”

The four men gravitate toward each other until they’re standing as a unit with Jefferson tucked in the middle. Steve shrugs and wraps an arm around Jefferson’s waist, pulling him close. “If it means getting Jefferson’s hat to work, I guess we have no choice but to trouble you for a room.”

“Unbelievable,” Dean mutters and, after a moment’s hesitation, gestures for them to follow. “You can use the guest room.” He turns to Castiel and scrubs a hand down his face. “Where’s Sam?”

“He made a few calls and tracked down a book on interdimensional travel,” Castiel says. “He’s on his way to pick it up.” 

“Thank fuck.” 

Dean leads the group from the library, past their bedrooms, and stops at a door at the end of the hall. “You need anything else? Lube? Condoms?” He huffs, his hands on his hips. 

“I wouldn’t mind a bottle of lube.” Tony winks at Dean. “Maybe some water, too. These two might be super soldiers, but Jefferson and I are only human.”

Dean’s eyes widen, and the muscle in his jaw works as he nods. The four men walk into the guest room, and Bucky turns and gives Dean a once over before saying, “Last chance, pal.”

Castiel watches Dean closely. He’s watched Dean so much he can pick up the slightest shift in his emotions. Dean’s cheeks are red, have been various shades of the colour since the group of strangers propositioned him. There’s a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, and Dean licks his lips and swallows before ripping his gaze from Bucky’s naked chest. 

There’s no denying that Dean finds these men attractive, and if this opportunity had presented itself before Castiel’s presence in his life, he would have jumped at it. As much as Castiel appreciates Dean’s efforts in trying to make him feel special, Castiel wants the world for Dean. Wants Dean to experience every ounce of pleasure this ugly world has to offer. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and if Dean won’t allow himself to experience it, then Castiel will have to take matters into his own hands. 

Dean reaches for the door handle, but Castiel stops him. “What the hell, Cas? Let’s get these assholes some lube and water and let them zap themselves outta here.”

“Dean,” Castiel swallows, praying that what he’s about to say won’t send Dean into shock. “Perhaps you should join them.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to DreadfulWitch for "sexperiments" XD!!!


	30. Chapter 30

Tony stares at Dean and his angel, curious how this will go down. They’re both specimens, and Tony has never been one to turn down a good time, but he would be okay excluding them. Reconnecting with Steve and Bucky after all the craziness wouldn’t be a bad thing.

And Jefferson. Tony’s eyes find the slender man in the chaos of the tiny room. He’s slouched in the back corner, holding himself separate from them, still so obviously unsure of his place even after their attempts to reassure him.

There’s something about him, something that has nothing to do with his resemblance to Bucky, that tugs at Tony’s heart. And he does actually have one. He may not love easily, but he feels it deeply when he does. His feelings for Steve and Bucky may have surprised him, but looking back, he can see the stirrings right from the beginning.

The same stirrings he now feels toward Jefferson.

Dean and Castiel have stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind them. Their voices rise and fall, but Tony can’t make out the words. He’s sure Steve and Bucky can, but Steve would never eavesdrop and even though Bucky would, Steve would never let Bucky tell Tony what they were saying. Stupid morals.

“Well,” Steve says sheepishly. “This is awfully awkward.”

Bucky snorts. “The part where Jefferson’s hat is pimping us out, or the part where an angel is trying to convince his boyfriend to join in?”

Steve makes a face. “Um, both?”

At Bucky’s joke about his hat, Jefferson seems to fold in on himself even more. He clutches the hat to his chest, the brim crushed to his chest, and frowns. 

Tony sidles closer. “He’s just joking about the hat,” Tony says, catching Jefferson’s eye.

“I’m sorry—”

“Uh uh, nope.” Tony grasps Jefferson’s chin when he would turn away, firm but not bruising. The grey eyes that meet his are so like Bucky’s but also completely different. “You have nothing to apologize for.” He slides his hand across Jefferson’s jaw, stubble scratching his palm, and around to cup the back of his neck. He squeezes once before letting go.

Jefferson takes a shuddering breath. “I don’t know what to do to fix it,” he whispers, voice shaky and thick with emotion.

It’s Tony’s turn to frown. “You don’t have to do anything. You’re along for the ride as much as we are.” He leans in and brushes a soft kiss across Jefferson’s lips. “This isn’t even the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to us, and we always manage to work it out. We _ will _ get you home to your daughter.” Another kiss. “Trust me.”

Jefferson gives him a tiny smile. “I do. I don’t know why, but I do trust you. All of you. I wish…” Jefferson trails off and studies him wistfully.

“Wish what?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jefferson says with a shake of his head. “I gave up expecting my wishes to be granted a long time ago.”

Before Tony can press him to explain, the door opens. They all turn to look at Dean and Castiel expectantly. 

A flush creeps across Dean’s face to the tips of his ears. “We, uh, if the offer still stands, we—”

Castiel lets out a huff, cutting Dean off. “If you are still interested,” he says, looking right at Steve, “Dean would like to engage in intercourse with you.”

“Cas!’

Castiel turns to Dean with a frustrated expression. “You agreed.”

“Well, yeah, but you don’t have to be so blunt about it.”

“Is there something untrue in what I said?”

Dean blinks rapidly a few times. “Well, no.”

Castiel nods once and turns back to Steve. “What is your answer?”

Now Steve blinks. It’s like they’re communicating in Morse code. Tony sighs, but before he can jump in, Bucky smacks Steve on the back, making him stumble forward. “Yes,” Bucky says with a smirk. “His answer is definitely yes. Does that mean you’re joinin’ us too?” Bucky gives the angel a slow, heated perusal and Tony probably shouldn’t be surprised by the blatant interest in Bucky’s eyes.

Castiel’s eyes flick to Dean. “If that would make Dean more comfortable.” He pauses, considering. “I have only ever engaged in sex with Dean. I will admit I’m curious.”

Bucky’s lips twitch. “Nothing wrong with a little healthy curiosity, right, Stevie?” When Steve just gives him a bland look and turns to hold his hand out to Dean, Bucky looks over at Tony. “You two joinin’ us?”

Jefferson stiffens and Tony glances at him. He’s slouching again as if he’s trying to fade through the floor. “No,” Tony says, reaching for Jefferson and threading their fingers together. “We’ll hang back for a while. You go ahead.” Bucky’s expression shifts to concern, but Tony waves him away. “We’re fine. Enjoy.”

Bucky doesn’t bother asking a second time. He turns away and steps in close to Steve just as Steve draws Dean into a long, lingering kiss.

“You could join them,” Jefferson says in a small voice, trying to pull his hand loose from Tony’s grip. “I don’t mind.”

Tony turns to meet his eyes. “I’d rather stay right here with you.”

“Oh, I—”

“I mean it.” Tony tugs him toward the overstuffed armchair in the corner. “The orgies are fun and all,” he says, gesturing over his shoulder to where the others are half naked already. “But sometimes it’s nice to focus on one person. Really savor the experience.”

“Um, you mean, uh, me?”

Tony chuckles. “Yes, I mean you.” He takes the hat and sets it on the floor before pushing Jefferson into the chair and slides to his knees in front of him. A long moan from the other side of the room draws Jefferson’s gaze over Tony’s shoulder and his cock twitches in his borrowed sweatpants. Tony chuckles and hooks his fingers into the waistband.

Jefferson grabs Tony’s wrists with both hands. “You don’t have to.”

“Of course not, but I want to. Is that okay?” Tony searches his face. The last thing he wants is to make Jefferson uncomfortable. He just wants to make the other man feel good. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to. We can just wait it out until the hat decides they’ve had their fun.” 

Another moan—this time Steve—and Jefferson shifts in the seat, his thickening cock tenting the sweatpants. He licks his lips and meets Tony’s eyes. There’s what seems like a war going on behind them, and Tony waits, holding his breath until Jefferson finally nods and releases his wrists. 

Slowly, so as not to spook him, Tony draws the sweatpants back and down Jefferson’s thighs. After the taste Tony had before that stupid hat hijacked them, he knows exactly what he wants to do with that beautiful, thick cock. He flattens his tongue against the underside, then drags it up to swirl around the head. Jefferson jerks with a sharp inhale of breath and Tony presses his hands against Jefferson’s hips to hold him still.

Licking and sucking, taking him deep and then lapping at his slit, Tony uses every technique he knows to turn Jefferson into a panting, writhing mess as quickly as possible. He twitches and moans and bucks his hips with each press of Tony’s tongue, until finally, he mutters, “Tony, Tony, I’m going to—”

“No, you’re not,” Tony says decisively, sitting back on his heels and dragging the back of his hand over his swollen lips. “I have other plans for you, sweetheart.” Jefferson’s eyes go wide and then a sound from across the room draws his attention. Tony turns to see Steve on his knees in front of Castiel, slurping at the angel’s dick. It’s not a position Steve usually takes, but he looks damn good doing it. 

Tony rises, shoving his sweatpants down and off, and calls, “Throw me the lube, would you?”

Bucky looks up from his appreciative observation of Steve and stops petting Dean long enough to throw Tony the bottle. He dribbles a fair amount over Jackson’s dick, smiling a little at Jefferson’s sharp inhalation, before tossing it back.

Jefferson’s eyes widen even farther when Tony straddles him on the chair, reaching to position Jefferson’s cock against his opening. “Wait,” Jefferson says, “you haven’t, I mean, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Tony smiles and leans in to give him a long, filthy kiss. Jefferson chases his lips when Tony pulls away. “You’re sweet, but don’t worry. I know what I can take”—two super soldiers, to be precise—“and I like a little burn.” He lowers himself slowly, savoring the way Jefferson fills him in a way that is different from Steve or Bucky. Jefferson pries his hands loose from where he’d been gripping the arms of the chair and strokes them up and down Tony’s sides, bunching the t-shirt in his grasp. 

Once he’s fully seated, Tony holds still and lets himself just look into Jefferson’s eyes. It’s intense, intimate, and after a few seconds, Jefferson looks away. “It feels—you feel amazing,” Jefferson groans, squeezing his eyes shut. 

The corner of Tony’s lips quirk up. “I could say the same thing about you.”

Jefferson’s eyes snap open and he meets Tony’s gaze again, lust—and something Tony doesn’t let himself name for fear that he’s only seeing what he wants to see—swirling in them. Jefferson shudders and dives in again, capturing Tony’s mouth in another searing kiss.

Still kissing, opening for Jefferson and letting him suck on Tony’s tongue, Tony raises himself and then lowers again, slowly riding Jefferson’s cock. The friction is amazing, but it’s more than the physical sensations. There’s something about Jefferson’s earnestness, his genuine moans, the sweet way he whispers Tony’s name every time their mouths part, that wraps around Tony’s heart and squeezes.

Sooner than he expected—much, much sooner—heat curls at the base of Tony’s spine and his legs start to shake. He reaches for Jefferson’s hand and wraps it around his cock, guiding him, showing him how to squeeze and stroke and tease. Not too tight, not too fast, just a gradual slide of skin against his heated flesh in time with the long, slow strokes inside him. 

“Tony,” Jefferson says, his voice raw and needy. “I can’t—I’m going to—”

“Yes, that’s it,” Tony says, urging him on. He rises faster, feeling the burn in his thighs to match the pleasure spearing inside him. “Take me with you, Jefferson.”

Jefferson’s hand moves on his dick faster, the grip tighter, surer. The pleasure builds and builds until it crests, suffusing Tony’s entire body with an electric buzz under his skin, snapping through nerve endings and whiting out Tony’s vision. 

Barely able to hold himself up, Tony sags against Jefferson, smearing his release between them. Jefferson’s hips buck, shoving up into Tony and sending aftershocks of pleasure through him. In only a few more moments, Jefferson tenses with a shout, his hands closing on Tony’s hips almost bruisingly hard, and Tony could swear he can feel Jefferson emptying into him. 

Tony slumps against Jefferson’s chest, the rapid cadence of his heart under Tony’s cheek. A hand comes up and strokes Tony’s hair. “Thank you, Tony,” Jefferson murmurs against the top of his head. 

Though his muscles feel like lead, Tony straightens long enough to press a gentle kiss to Jefferson’s mouth. “Any time,” he says, lips still pressed together, before curling into Jefferson’s chest again. He’s not sure what’s going on behind him anymore, but that’s okay. He’s content right where he is.       


	31. Chapter 31

Dean likes to think he’s pretty adventurous in bed. Nothing freakishly kinky but not totally vanilla either. However, nothing he’s done up until this point has prepared him for the sight of Captain freaking America on his knees, looking up at Cas like the angel hung the moon.

It’s easy to forget sometimes that Cas is a powerful celestial being who  _ chooses _ to be here with Dean. Watching Cas guide Steve’s lips along his length—one Dean’s intimately familiar with—with such firm command reminds Dean that Cas is a warrior. There’s strength beneath those fingers that Cas reins back to not hurt Dean, but he’s not holding back as he yanks Steve off his cock with a slick pop. 

Dean doesn’t know how Steve ended up at Cas’ feet. A jolt of jealousy had set his teeth grinding, but the feeling was short lived. By the time Cas is grunting in time to the bob of Steve’s head, Dean’s cock is straining against his sweats.

Fuck, Cas is so hot like this. 

When Captain—Steve—reached for him, something had flashed across Cas’ blue eyes that set Dean’s heart racing a hundred miles a minute. There was a moment of possessiveness, and Dean caught Cas balling his hands into fists before taking a deep breath. Somehow that settled the nerves twisting in Dean’s gut about all this.  _ Knowing _ that he’s still Cas’ and Cas is still his makes this seem more like an adventure. 

The truth is Dean’s never thought about Cas being with other people. He always assumed since they’re together, being with others is out of the question. Despite his non-discriminatory porn searches, Dean’s an old fashioned guy, and all that new age poly-whats-its is just not for him. Or so he thought. 

His dick seems to have other ideas. 

A cool touch on his elbow jerks him out of his own head. “Pretty, ain’t he?” Bucky runs his metal hand up Dean’s arm and grips the back of Dean’s neck. He steps in close, really close, and Dean swallows as the heat of Bucky’s chest presses into his back. 

“Uh, um, yeah.” 

“I know you got a thing for the man with the plan, but”—Bucky nuzzles Dean’s ear—“I’d appreciate you letting the angel have a go at him first. He could use the down time.”

“Down time?” Dean asks, but his only reply is Bucky’s teeth nipping his ear. 

Dean shivers. Bucky pulls him close, his flesh hand no less powerful than the metal one, and grinds his erection against Dean’s ass. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you all primed up for Stevie.” 

It’s not so much the words, but the tension in Bucky’s body that sets Dean on edge. For someone seemingly as confident and assertive as Bucky, his movements feel uncertain. Bucky hooks his chin over Dean’s shoulder, and Dean turns to look at him. The look in his winter-grey eyes reminds Dean of a time when his own reflection stared back with that same expression. Reminds Dean of the man he was after Cas dragged him back from hell. Haunted. 

He shouldn’t care. This isn’t fucking group sex therapy. He’s here for a good time, to see if super soldiers fuck as hard as they fight, but a small part of Dean can’t help himself. 

A a drawn out moan to his left disrupts his train of thought. Dean turns in time to see Tony kicking off his sweatpants and straddling Jefferson’s lap. “Throw me the lube, would you?” Tony asks as if he’s asking Bucky to pass the salt. 

Bucky moves away just long enough to toss the bottle to the couple on the chair, then pulls Dean right back into his arms. His hands trace down Dean’s sides, following the slope of his hips until he reaches down the front of Dean’s pants, and metal meets Dean’s raging hard-on. He hisses as Bucky’s cold hand wraps around the shaft, his other hand cradling Dean’s balls. He strokes once, and the smoothness of Bucky’s metal palm swipes away the niggling concern in the back of Dean’s mind. 

Cas grips the back of Steve’s head and snaps his hips forward and Dean swallows, knowing just how good and heavy Cas’ cock feels. His chest heaves, and the combined warmth of Bucky’s chest, his breath against Dean’s neck, and his hands playing Dean like a fucking violin sets the room spinning. 

Off to their side, Tony—or Jefferson, Dean can’t tell—cries out, and suddenly Dean doesn’t know where to look. There’s so much happening. So many sounds, smells, Bucky’s hands on him, his cock pressing like a threat and a promise against Dean’s ass. 

“You’re thinkin’ too hard, doll, just relax.” Bucky’s voice cuts through the rush of blood roaring in Dean’s ears. 

Bucky pulls back long enough to strip Dean down to his birthday suit, then he does the same before sitting on the bed and pulling Dean into his lap. It’s a double, and for a brief moment Dean hopes they don’t break the damn thing. He does  _ not _ want to explain to Sam why they need a new bed for the guest room. 

In front of them, Steve is stroking himself to the rhythm of Cas fucking his mouth. It’s not a gentle pace, more brutal than Dean thinks he could take, and a small part of him is glad someone’s giving Cas what he needs. Steve’s lips are red and glistening with the saliva dribbling down his chin, and his eyes are lidded and swimming with tears, but he looks so blissed out Dean’s almost a little envious. 

Bucky’s hand is wrapped around Dean’s cock again. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Dean has unrestricted view of Cas fucking Steve’s mouth and Tony riding Jefferson. It’s so overwhelming, almost too much to take in, and Bucky’s metal fist doesn’t feel as strange as it should as he jerks Dean with unrelenting strokes. 

Cas looks up and their eyes lock. Dean’s breath hitches, and the fire in Cas’ eyes pushes him over the edge. His stomach clenches and his eyes screw shut as ropes of hot come splash across his stomach. It takes him a moment to catch his breath, and when he finally pries his eyes open, Cas is leading Steve toward him. 

“Damn, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs beside Dean’s ear, a hint of amusement and wonder in his voice. “What’s it like blowing an angel?”

Steve’s blush spreads down his shoulders and chest and his smile is answer enough. Cas stops in front of Dean, his gaze raking down Dean’s chest and stomach to his spent cock. 

“Dean, can I ask something of you?” Cas asks. 

Dean swallows and nods. 

“I want to see you take them both.” Cas looks to Bucky then Steve then back to Dean. “Can you do that for me?” 


	32. Chapter 32

Steve’s mouth goes dry at Castiel’s words, and the tightness in his balls, already aching from being on his knees at the angel’s feet, intensifies. His throat is sore from the way Castiel had pounded into him, but it leaves a pleasant dull thrum in his blood. Though he loves Bucky and Tony and everything they do together, he’s usually the one in charge. He’s never felt so thoroughly used before.

Across the room, Jefferson and Tony are curled on the chair in the corner, Jefferson looking far more relaxed than Steve has seen him since he arrived. Tony catches Steve’s eye without raising his head from Jefferson’s chest, and his lips twitch up on one side. That’s a Tony who believes his plan is coming together perfectly. There’s something there Steve needs to remember to address later. 

Pulling his gaze back, Steve meets Bucky’s eyes, but Bucky’s heavy lids and smirk says he’s up for whatever Steve is. Dean looks amazing laying boneless and flushed against Bucky’s chest, and Steve finds he’s more than willing to follow Castiel’s lead. He takes a step forward but Dean’s wide eyes stop him. 

“I, uh, Cas? I’m not sure about this.”

Castiel’s eyes crinkle at the edges. “When we have watched pornography together, you have seemed particularly interested in the scenes with three men.”

Dean’s spent cock twitches and, between the blood rushing south and the flush still covering his chest, Steve is amazed he’s able to blush. 

“Well, yeah,” Dean admits, sucking in a deep breath and shuddering when Bucky runs his hands up Dean’s sides. He drops his head back against Bucky’s shoulder for a moment before shaking himself. “It’s hot, but I never thought—”

“You should try all of the things that interest you, Dean.”

“If you don’t want to,” Steve starts. As turned on as he is, the last thing he wants is for Dean to do something he’s not comfortable with.

But Dean waves him away. “I want to. This is kind of a once in a lifetime opportunity, but I’m not really sure what to do.”

Bucky laughs, jostling Dean slightly, and leans forward to drag his tongue up the side of Dean’s neck. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he says with another deep chuckle. “We know exactly what to do.”

Steve finishes his step forward and holds out his hand to Dean, who takes it with only a slight tremor. “Turn around,” he says, spinning Dean so he’s facing Bucky, who is still lounging on the bed. “Let’s start nice and easy.” Steve soothes his hands over Dean’s shoulders, stroking the tension away, and easily falls back into the role he always takes. He spares only a flicker of wistfulness for those too-brief moments when all he had to worry about was taking whatever Castiel gave him.  

Bucky lets himself fall back onto the bed, resting on his metal elbow, and strokes himself loosely with his flesh hand. “Come on,” he urges, reaching up to cup Dean’s face and draw him down. “Let’s see what you got.”

Steve waits until Dean is arranged to Bucky’s liking, one knee resting on the bed and the other foot planted on the floor to balance himself while he bends over to close his lips over the head of Bucky’s dick, before stroking his hands down Dean’s back to cup his ass cheeks. As much as Steve had felt a brief flare of hope that he would be the one being filled tonight, this works too. Dean shivers when Steve drags the pad of his thumb over his opening, and Steve smiles. He’s so responsive.

“You do this?” Steve asks, cocking his head toward Castiel as he drags his thumb in circles around Dean’s hole. If Dean isn’t used to bottoming, Steve will need to be more gentle than he’s used to. 

Dean moans around Bucky’s dick and arches his back, partially answering Steve’s question. He’s definitely into it, regardless of whether he’s used to it.

“Occasionally,” Castiel says, gaze flitting from Dean’s clenching hole to his lover’s mouth stretched around Bucky’s cock. “He prefers to be inside me, but we have had intercourse that way as well.” Castiel’s breath catches slightly when Bucky pulls Dean down with a hand on the back of his neck until Dean has taken all of his not-insubstantial length. 

Steve grins and strokes Dean’s asshole faster, with more pressure, wrenching another muffled moan from Dean. Castiel shivers and he makes an aborted reach for Dean. There are cracks showing in the angel’s unflappable control, and Steve has the sudden desire to widen them.

“Pass me the slick,” Steve murmurs, holding out his hand so Bucky can toss him the little bottle. He catches it and snaps the lid open. Dean shudders when the cold liquid drizzles over his opening, but he doesn’t stop greedily sucking at Bucky’s cock until Steve’s finger pushes inside.

“Hey now.” Bucky cups Dean’s cheek to keep him from pulling away completely when Steve breaches him. “I didn’t say you could stop.” 

Dean groans, shoving his hips backward, but when he looks over his shoulder, his eyes go right to Castiel’s face. “Fuck, Cas, it feels—I can’t—”

“You look amazing like this,” Castiel says, reaching out to lay one hand on Dean’s side. 

Dean arches into the touch and makes a choked off sound when Steve adds another finger. Gently stretching, coaxing Dean’s body open, Steve tries to focus on the scene in front of him rather than the nagging need inside of him.

Steve tenses when Castiel’s hand slides from Dean’s waist to the back of Steve’s neck. He squeezes with more pressure than most people could take and murmurs, “I know what you want, Steve Rogers. Do this for him and I will make sure you get it.”


	33. Chapter 33

Watching a man take two cocks in the same orifice shouldn’t be so tender, yet that’s exactly how Steve and Bucky are with Dean. Jefferson sinks deeper into the chair as Tony shifts in his lap, his bare skin smooth and warm and his body soft. He plants a soft kiss on Jefferson’s shoulder, and Jefferson sighs, basking in the feeling of contentment. It’s so rare he hardly recognizes it for what it is. 

However, as relaxed as he is, it’s impossible for his body to ignore the debauchery happening in front of him, and his cock gives a valiant twitch.  

Dean, his body vibrating between the bulk of two super soldiers, is mesmerizingly beautiful. His face and neck are flushed crimson, making his smattering of freckles pop. His mouth hangs open, the tip of his tongue just visible as he pants. The whimpering moans escaping Dean’s throat are licked up by Bucky’s talented and demanding tongue, and Steve smoothes away Dean’s tremors with gentle hands and soft lips trailing kisses down Dean’s back. 

Bucky and Steve move in sync, pulling and pushing as their substantial cocks slide alongside each other. Filling Dean in a way Jefferson can’t even fathom. Jefferson remembers distinctively how Tony had looked taking them both. How his tongue quivered against Jefferson’s cock. How his eyes glazed over with a freedom Jefferson only dreams of. 

Dean’s wearing that same blissed out expression now. One Jefferson both longs for and is terrified of. 

A part of him still can’t wrap his head around the idea of loving multiple people, much less sharing those lovers with strangers. He has a hard enough time figuring out how to love one person. Fresh guilt worms its way into Jefferson’s heart. How can he indulge in such hedonistic acts while he should be figuring out how to get home to Grace? Maybe he really isn’t cut out to be a father. 

Tony, as if sensing the change in his mood, cuddles impossibly close and wraps his arms around Jefferson’s waist. “Shh, just watch.” 

Jefferson hooks his chin over the top of Tony’s head and sighs. Steve has reared up, his large hands hooked in the bend of Dean’s hips as he thrusts with infinite care. Castiel kneels on the bed beside Bucky, his eyes so lust-blown the stormy blue forms thin halos surrounding dark pools of arousal. 

He caresses Dean’s cheek and murmurs something too soft for Jefferson to hear. Dean nods and lunges forward, his lips crushing Castiel’s for a heated kiss. Beneath Dean, Bucky reaches up and tweaks both of Dean’s nipples. Dean cries out, but the sound is muffled by Castiel’s tongue as it plunges into Dean’s mouth. 

First it was Tony, Steve, and Bucky. Then Stiles and Derek. Now, Dean and Castiel. They all love so freely. So passionately. With so much trust. Is this what love really is? To give each other anything and everything and still be so full of love that they find satisfaction even in sharing that love? Sharing that bond? Creating new bonds? Would Jefferson be able to do that? Could he drop his guard long enough to let someone in? To create bonds that seem to strengthen with every kiss and every touch and every new bond formed with someone new? 

Jefferson doesn’t have answers, but as he holds Tony in his arms, as he watches Steve and Bucky share pleasure by giving it to a total stranger, Jefferson  _ knows _ this is what he wants. He recognizes the same love and trust and devotion in Dean and Castiel as he did in Stiles and Derek. It is what he so desperately misses in his life. What he doesn’t think he deserves. 

What would it be like to have someone look at him like Castiel looks at Dean? Like Steve looks at Tony and Bucky? Jefferson glances down to find Tony’s eyes locked on him, and something warm unfurls in his chest. 

Tony is looking at him right now with wonder and amusement and a tenderness that leaves Jefferson breathless. Like he’s irreplaceable and precious. Not only wanted, but  _ needed.  _

Perhaps what he needs is right here, in his arms and across the room. What he needs is to be a part of this endless pool of passion and love and unconditional support. And he needs to just reach out and grasp it. Allow it to take him for the man he is and morph him into the man he’s always wanted to be. 

Across the small room, Dean shouts something between a curse and Castiel’s name and he’s coming. Ropes of milky release paint Bucky’s chest, neck, chin, and the look in Bucky’s eyes is feral as he tenses. Beside Dean, Castiel shudders, then a swoosh and a pop, and black wings flap and quiver in time with Castiel’s laboured breaths. 

Steve goes rock still behind Dean, his hands digging into Dean’s hips so hard his fingertips dimple into Dean’s flesh. His eyes widen as they follow the erratic movements of those angel wings, then his eyes squeeze shut as his release punches through him. Everything goes still for a long, breathless moment as the trio hang in limbo.

Castiel snaps out of his trance and catches Steve as he slips from Dean’s body. Dean flops into a boneless heap on top of Bucky and snorts lazily when he faceplants in a pool of his own come. Jefferson catches a glimpse of Dean’s abused hole—red and puffy and so very debauched—and the creamy stream of Bucky and Steve’s mixed release rolling down Dean’s inner thigh has Jefferson’s heart beating faster and his breathing shallower. His cock twitches again, but he’s still too spent from everything that’s happened today. He’s human after all. 

Tony chuckles and smoothes his fingers across Jefferson’s belly. “It’s okay. It’s like this all the time for me too. I’m the youngest, but they run circles around me when it comes to number of daily orgasms.” 

Jefferson snorts and hugs Tony closer. “Maybe I can keep you company.” 

“You would?” Tony looks up with mocking big eyes. “That’s awfully sweet of you.”

“I—” Before Jefferson can finish his thought, a loud crash startles them both. 

Across the room, Castiel has Steve pinned face first against the wall, his black wings flapping in time with the rise and fall of Castiel’s heaving chest. “Tell me what you want, Steve Rogers, and you’ll have it.” 

And Jefferson’s eyes pop wide when Steve,  _ Captain America _ , whimpers in response.  


	34. Chapter 34

Puffs of air ruffle the back of Steve’s hair, keeping time with the erratic quivering of Castiel’s wings. He tightens his hold on Steve’s nape and presses with much more force than he’d ever use with Dean. For all that there is strength in Dean, so much more than even Dean knows, he’s fragile compared to Castiel. Precious enough that there is a part of Castiel always held back, always kept in check.

That part can be given more rein with someone like Steve Rogers.

Steve groans and his muscles tense against Castiel’s control. He places his palms on the wall and shoves himself back with more force than Castiel is prepared for. The momentum drives Castiel back a step and his wings bow to add additional power when he shoves Steve harder against the wall.

“I can feel the struggle in you, the uncertainty that lies between what you want and what you think you should have,” Castiel says, leaning in to speak directly into Steve’s ear. He presses his body tight to Steve’s bare back, grinds his half-hard cock against Steve’s ass. “You gave Dean something I couldn’t, and I would repay that by giving you what you need. Tell me what you want me to do.”

A shudder runs through Steve’s large frame, and he squeezes his eyes shut. “I don’t—” He tries to shake his head but can only shift his cheek against the wall, held tight as he is by Castiel’s grip.

“Stevie.”

Steve’s eyes snap open and he rolls them to the side so he can look at Bucky where he’s come to stand next to them. “Buck, I can’t—”

“Shh,” Bucky says, running one finger down Steve’s cheek. His voice is soft, but Castiel can hear a ragged edge under the gentle words. “You can, doll. Let go. Let him give you what I can’t.”

“That’s not—Bucky, there’s nothing I need—”

“You know that ain’t true,” Bucky snaps, that underlying frustration bleeding to the surface. “You take care of me, we take care of Tony. Who takes care of you, huh? Who puts you down? Takes you under and holds you there? Tony ain’t strong enough and I—” He stops, and his chest heaves with a deep breath. His words are softer when he continues, but no less raw. “I can’t. I wouldn’t risk hurting you again, not like that day, not ever again, even if you would let me try.”

Every muscle in Steve’s body trembles, and Castiel anchors him against the wall, holds him until the trembling stops and Steve relaxes into his hold. “I think I understand,” Castiel says, stepping back and turning Steve to face him. He presses down on Steve’s shoulders and Steve goes pliant, sliding to his knees at Castiel’s feet.

Once there, Steve leans in and presses his face to Castiel’s hip, his breath warm against the sensitive skin there. He murmurs, lips brushing over skin, “I don’t know how.”

Castiel nods, cupping Steve’s cheek. He glances over to where Bucky has joined Dean on the bed again. Dean still looks slightly dazed, his skin flushed and beautiful, and he doesn’t protest when Bucky tugs him in to let his head loll against his shoulder.

“It is hard for a strong man to let others take care of him,” Castiel says, holding Dean’s gaze. “To not be the one in control. To not carry the world on his shoulders for even a few moments.” He shifts his gaze back to the man at his feet. “That isn’t failure, Steve. To let others take care of you, to love you, is the epitome of strength.”

Steve whimpers, nuzzling closer to Castiel’s groin, and Castiel takes the hint. No more words. Steve has already given his consent, no matter how hard won it might be.

Castiel presses his thumb to the corner of Steve’s mouth and he opens, turning his head to allow Castiel to press his steadily swelling cock back into the wet heat. It’s Castiel’s turn to bite back a groan.

The first time he’d done this with Dean, felt these carnal urges, he’d been unnerved by his body’s responses. No matter what Gabriel or Balthazar said, Castiel had always believed angels were not supposed to experience earthly pleasures.

Dean had shown him the fallacy. Once Castiel had been tasked with saving Dean from hell, once he’d remade Dean’s body in his own image, what better way to honor that bond than to give him pleasure that wipes away all the pain he’s experienced, if even for a few moments.

Steve sucks and licks at his cock, but when he starts to pull back, Castiel cups the back of his head and holds him still. He presses in steadily, enjoying the tightness at the back of Steve’s throat and the way the muscles work against the head. After another moment, Steve begins to struggle against the grip and Castiel tightens his hold. Castiel needs to exert more strength than he expected to hold Steve still.  

“Shh, stop fighting it,” Castiel says, smoothing his hand over Steve’s cheek. “You’re doing so well. Just relax and take it.”

Steve jerks again and then calms, a thin line of saliva drooling from the corner of his mouth. There is no creature in heaven or on earth that could ever eclipse Dean’s beauty in Castiel’s eyes, but he can’t deny that Steve looks gorgeous like this—mouth stretched wide and blue eyes going glassy.

Castiel very, very slowly pulls out, and Steve draws in a long, gasping breath. “That’s good,” Castiel says, stroking his cheek. “Come now, up on the bed.”

Steve rises and goes willingly to the bed, but Castiel keeps a tight hold on his wrists. Something tells Castiel he needs the physical guidance as much as the words. Bucky and Dean shift against the headboard, making room for them. Castiel arranges Steve how he wants him—on his back with his knees bent—then settles between his spread legs. He nods his thanks when Bucky rolls the little bottle of lubricant toward him.

Sliding both hands up Steve’s arms, he gathers Steve’s wrists in one strong grasp, using the leverage to pin him to the bed. Steve struggles for a moment then shivers and goes lax.

Castiel’s wings—a corporeal expression of his angelic grace that he’s only recently gotten comfortable with revealing—slowly flutter in the air behind him, and Steve’s eyes track the motions. Vain though it might be, Castiel can’t help but preen under the obvious adoration. He extends his wings a little farther, letting them unfurl to show off their majesty. The small room is too narrow to hold the entire extended wingspan, but he’s gratified when Steve’s eyes widen farther.

With the hand not holding Steve down, Castiel slicks up his cock and presses the head against the heat of Steve’s body. “Do you need any additional preparation?”

Steve’s head thrashed back and forth and he pants, “N-No, just, please, do it.”

Castiel grants his request, entering Steve’s body in one slow thrust until he is fully seated inside. Although Castiel is entirely captivated by the feeling of being joined with Dean, the heat of Dean’s body is nothing like the inferno of Steve’s. For a moment, he allows himself to get lost in it.

And then Steve groans and cants his hips and Castiel is brought back to exactly what he’s doing. He pulls out and thrusts back in with a fast but deep rhythm. Steve grunts with the first few powerful thrusts, but after a few moments, even those sounds are wrung out of him. He brings his legs up to hook his feet around the backs of Castiel’s knees and lets Castiel have control.

Steve’s cock, spent after his time with Dean, gradually starts to fill again. Thrusting up with his hips as Castiel thrusts in, Steve begins to rock with him, setting a punishing tempo. Blistering heat begins to unfurl inside Castiel, snaking up his spine and skittering across his skin.

When Steve tugs his arms again, trying to break loose from the hold, Castiel tightens his grasp. “Please, Castiel, let me touch you. I want to touch your wings. Please?”

He’s plaintive, winded, his voice breaking on the last word and Castiel’s rhythm falters. No human besides Dean has ever touched his wings. As pleasurable as he has found inhabiting a human body to be, there is still a disconnection. He feels—and enjoys—the sensations, but they’re muted, like touching a cold surface with thin gloves on. You can feel the chill, but it’s removed from your skin.

It’s the wistfulness in Steve’s eyes as he gives himself to Castiel that convinces him. It’s clear from their words earlier that Steve is a believer, that being an angel _means_ something to Steve. And if they were right, the hat would kick in any moment to whisk them away to another dimension. It can’t hurt to give Steve this experience.

Castiel nods his consent and releases Steve’s wrists, slowing his thrusts to long, rolling movements rather than the punishing onslaught. Steve raises his hands slowly, as if he can sense Castiel’s reluctance and is giving him a chance to change his mind.

As soon as his fingertips coast over the strong bones, stroking reverently, his expression enraptured, Castiel knows he made the right decision. A shudder runs through Castiel, the sensation as powerful as if Steve was stroking his cock with that featherlight caress. He slips his hands down to stroke through the feathers, carding his fingers through them, and a familiar heat begins to pool at the base of Castiel’s spine.

“You can tug on them, gently.” Castiel’s voice is gravel, wrecked beyond even his normal human register. His eyes nearly roll back in his head when Steve follows his direction, pulling lightly on a handful of feathers. He thrusts deep again, and the combination of the tight heat of Steve’s body and the thrill racing across his wings tips him over the edge.

He comes with a shout, his wings curling in over them, enveloping them in a silky fall of feathers. Steve smiles, a blissful, enthralled expression, and wraps his arms around Castiel, hands still stroking his wings, while the aftershocks of Castiel’s release shudders through him.

Steve’s cock, still hard, presses into Castiel’s abdomen when he collapses against Steve. “You didn’t—”

“It’s okay,” Steve murmurs, stroking his hand down Castiel’s back. With another shudder, Castiel folds his wings and hides them away from the material plane again. Steve gives a small disappointed sigh and smiles. “That was amazing. Thank you.” He leans in and kisses Castiel’s cheek. “Thank you for letting me touch them.”

Castiel closes his eyes, unsure what to say, while he waits for Steve to be ripped out of his arms by the hat. Sex, they said, would trigger it. Any moment now.

When he opens his eyes, Steve is still there, still wrapped around him. And he looks just as confused as Castiel is.


	35. Chapter 35

Dean’s the kind of guy Bucky used to take under his wing back in the army. Tough on the outside but gooey in the center, and he’s a looker to boot. Kind of like Steve. But despite Dean’s warm, lax body curled against him, Bucky’s freezing as he watches Steve submit to Castiel. 

It’s not the way Steve writhes under Castiel’s body, nor the way his hips cant up to meet those bone-jarring thrusts that’s got Bucky’s skin itching. No, it’s the way Steve’s expression softens when Castiel lets him touch his wings. The way his eyes widen in wonder and freedom when Castiel holds him down that stabs Bucky’s chest like a knife. 

It used to be Bucky who pinned Steve down and lavished his body with attention until they forgot they were short on rent. Forgot that Steve could fall ill at the drop of a hat. Forgot that outside the walls of their tiny, run-down apartment was a world that didn’t accept them for loving each other they way they did. Still do. 

It’s hard to forget the feeling of flying when Steve finally gave in to him. Finally stopped fighting because when did Stevie ever give up in a fight? It made Bucky feel special. 

After he came home seventy years later and a whole lot more screwed up, Steve had trusted him anyway. Put himself in Bucky’s care because he knew Bucky needed to feel in control again. Needed to  _ be _ in control again. 

But Bucky fucked it up. Fucked it up so badly that if it weren’t for the serum stitching up Steve’s flesh and holding him together, he’d be dead. And where would Bucky be then? Just another broken puppet left behind by Hydra’s grand master plan. 

So, no. Bucky can’t give Steve what he wants, and because he’s Steve, he pretends he doesn't need it. Bucky’s not blind, and Tony can see it too, that sometimes Steve just wants the weight of the world off his shoulders for a second. Just wants to be Steve Rogers for a change instead of Captain America. 

Bucky’s glad Castiel can give that to him. Glad and grateful, but there’s a hole in his chest that rips with every passing minute. Until Castiel stiffens and his wings—black as night—wrap them both in a quivering cocoon. Bucky’s breath hitches, and he doesn’t realise he’s been holding it until Dean shifts in his arms and stares up at him with a frown. 

“You okay there, buddy?” Deanruns his thumb across Bucky’s bottom lip, pulling it from Bucky’s teeth where he’s gnawed through the skin. 

Bucky grunts and clears his throat and pulls Dean back into his arms, his metal arm whirring with the movement. The arm is just another reminder that he’s broken. That perhaps his mind will never be whole again, just like his body. 

The man in his arms struggles, and Bucky clutches tighter. He can’t let Stevie go again. Look what happened the last time he foolishly left Steve behind? 

Somewhere in the distance there are voices. Shouting. And hands grab at Bucky’s arms and shoulders. But he’s going to hang on tight. He’s got to. He can’t go back there. Can’t let them take him. Take Steve. Take  _ them. _

“Buck, Buck you gotta snap out of it.” Is that Steve? Bucky folds in on the man in his arms and shudders. Can’t be. Steve’s in his arms. Held tight and safe. 

Strong hands grip his wrists and pry his arms open. Bucky cries out and kicks, but another pair of hands catch his ankle and hold it down. Arms wrap around his torso and pull him back against a solid chest as legs wrap around his waist, locking him in place. A soft voice murmurs in his ear, and Bucky can’t tell if it’s real or just another hallucination.  

He can’t breathe. His chest is too tight. His eyes water. He can’t see.  _ And it’s so damn cold, Stevie. It’s always so damn cold. _

Bucky thrashes until his muscles sing with fatigue. Until his chest burns and the calm voice drowns out the hum of his metal arm. The chest against his back is hot, and that heat seeps through Bucky’s skin and spreads to his fingers and toes. He stops struggling, and when he opens his eyes, Tony’s and Jefferson’s concerned faces hover inches from his. 

“Hey, big guy,” Tony says as he traces a finger across Bucky’s brow, brushing back his hair. “You’re back with us. You’re safe. We got you.” 

A single black feather drifts into his lap. Bucky turns and finds Castiel—not Steve—sitting behind him, his wings spread wide and his arms locked around Bucky’s chest. Bucky snaps around and searches the room, breathing out a slow sigh when he spots Steve at the foot of the bed, his hands still around Bucky’s ankles. 

Bucky opens his mouth, but his mouth is so dry he can’t form words. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and as much as Bucky hates the idea of crying in front of strangers, he can’t stop the wretched sob echoing around the small room. The arms around him loosen, and Castiel shifts from behind Bucky. Bucky shivers at the loss of heat, but the chill is replaced by something warm. Not scorching like Castiel or even Steve, but comfortable and soothing. 

“Just let it out,” Jefferson whispers and pulls Bucky back until he’s laying in Jefferson’s lap, his head cradled against Jefferson’s thighs as long, gentle fingers card through his tangled hair. “Sometimes we just need a good cry. It won’t solve anything, but it’ll make you feel better.” 

Bucky stares up into smokey grey eyes, so similar to his own, and finds a kind of acceptance he didn’t know he needed. Steve and Tony accept him, but they also want to  _ fix _ him. Not that Bucky holds that against them, he wants to be fixed too, but it’s so damn exhausting when he fails. So damn exhausting to know he’ll never live up to the version of himself Steve and Tony know he can be. 

Tears stream fromthe corners of his eyes and soak into his hair. His face contorts, and another broken sob escapes his lips as he turns his face into Jefferson’s thigh. And the tears flow and flow and flow and his nose stuffs up as he sobs open-mouthed against that solid thigh. 

Bucky’s come to terms with the seventy years he’s lost to Hydra. Come to terms with the shit he did while they collared and leashed him. These tears are not for them. They’re for the years he’ll lose until they tighten all the loose screws in his head. Until he can finally learn to be a normal human being again. If that ever happens. 

They’re tears for a life he’s lost before he’s had a chance to live it. 

Jefferson strokes his hair, calm and silent, until Bucky’s tears run dry and all that’s left is the occasional shudder in his breathing. Bucky steals a glance through clumped lashes and tears, and Jefferson’s smiling down at him like he didn’t just bawl his eyes out like a kid who lost a fistfight. 

“Feel better?” he asks with a smile that reminds Bucky of a time when he was happy. Before the war when he shared a life with the love of his life.

“A l-little.” Bucky takes a deep breath and sighs, and a weight he didn’t notice was there lifts off his chest. “Actually, a whole lot.” He kisses Jefferson’s thigh then pushes himself up, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

When he looks up again, four pairs of worried eyes land on him. Bucky shrugs and sags back into Jefferson and says, “Guess the damn hat didn’t work.”


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I had a supremely crappy week last week and was unable to get my chapter posted. On the positive side, keep an eye out for a second post by Soba in the next day or two, so we'll be back on track.

Tony shifts, his cheek brushing over warm skin and a smattering of soft hair. Jefferson’s chest is firm but almost flat, and his heartbeat is slow and steady, nothing like the crazy way a supersoldier’s pulse races even when they're resting. The serum may have sculpted Steve and Bucky into gods, but Jefferson is achingly human.

The gentleness of Jefferson’s hands slowly stroking up and down his back lulls Tony right to the edges of slumber. Moans, murmuring voices, and the flutter of wings fill the room, but Tony lets them fade into the background. 

Tony knows what his faults are, though he likes to act as if he doesn’t have any. He’s brash, impulsive, and a little (a lot) self-centered. He’s used to being the smartest person in the room and he’s let it make him oblivious to the needs of other people. He focuses too much on the big picture and not enough on being part of a team. 

He knows all that. 

He’s never been good at being a caretaker. He tried with Pepper—he really did—but it was too little too late. He’d sucked at it and it eventually pushed her away. Salvaging their friendship enough to allow her to continue to run the company was the best he could manage.

Despite everything, though, this thing with Bucky and Steve has changed him in ways he never thought he needed to change. He still sucks at being a caretaker, but for the first time, he thinks maybe he’s getting a little better at it. And somehow, the man under him makes him want to try a little harder.

Jefferson sighs, his breath ghosting over Tony’s cheek, but it isn’t a restless sound. It carries a hint of contentment, the first measure of peacefulness Tony has seen from him since he tumbled through the hat in their room. A warm curl of satisfaction unfurls in Tony’s chest at being the one responsible for it.

“You okay there, buddy?” 

Tony’s head snaps up at the hint of discomfort in Dean’s rough voice. Bucky’s eyes stare, glassy and unfocused, across the room, but Tony knows from experience that he’s not seeing anything in the present. Fuck.

Jefferson startles, clearly not recognizing the danger Tony does, when Tony pushes himself off his lap. Bucky’s arm whirs as he pulls Dean tighter against him, ignoring the man’s increasingly panicked struggling. 

“Shit,” Tony barks, sprinting across the room as Steve and Castiel disentangle themselves. “He’s having a flashback.” Tony knows first hand the damage Bucky can do when he’s like this.

Steve reaches for Dean and tries to pull him away, but Bucky just clasps him tighter. “Buck, Buck you gotta snap out of it,” Steve cajoles, his voice calm but with an edge of worry even he can’t hide. 

Castiel pushes Steve away and grabs Bucky’s wrists. Bucky flails, trying to keep his hold on Dean, but Castiel pries his arms open, allowing Dean to slip away, chest heaving. It doesn’t surprise Tony when Bucky just fights harder, wrenching his metal arm loose and throwing a punch that narrowly misses clipping the side of Castiel’s head. 

Bucky kicks, using every bit of the horrible strength Hydra programmed into him. Tony reaches for his legs, but Steve pushes him away. “He’ll hurt you,” Steve hisses as he grabs Bucky’s ankles in both hands and pins them to the bed. Tony shakes his head to clear the bitterness gathering in his chest. He hates feeling so helpless, but he knows without the suit, Bucky could kill him when he’s like this and not even realize it.

When Bucky continues to struggle, Castiel lets go of his wrists and wedges himself behind Bucky’s back, arms a vise around his chest and legs wrapped around his hips to keep him from using the bed as leverage to get away. “You’re safe,” Castiel murmurs in his ear. “Let the past go and come back to us. You’re safe.” For the first time, Tony wonders what Castiel has seen, how he knows what to do.

Bucky continues to thrash, but his movements grow weaker and weaker. Tears gather at the corner of his wide, frightened eyes and roll down his cheeks. If Tony never sees his lover like this again, it will be too soon.

Finally, after what feels like hours, Bucky’s thrashing becomes weak enough that Tony feels safe stepping closer. A movement at his side draws his attention and Jefferson is right there, moving with him. For a moment, Tony thinks about pushing Jefferson away, worried that Bucky might not remember who he is, but the concern etched into Jefferson’s expression stops him.

Bucky’s eyes flutter closed as the tension ebbs from his body, leaving him lax in Castiel’s arms. Tony and Jefferson lean in, and when Bucky opens his eyes, there is no panic, only recognition, in them. 

“Hey, big guy,” Tony says, tracing a finger across Bucky’s brow and brushing back his hair. “You’re back with us. You’re safe. We got you.” 

Bucky stares at them for several seconds and then a long shiver passes through his body. Wet tracks glisten on his cheeks and his eyes, though aware, are haunted. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. And then his face crumples again and a sob echoes in the tiny room. Tony’s heart breaks at the sound. Another gasping breath, and Bucky curls forward, arms clasped around his chest, when Castiel releases him.

Jefferson starts to move forward, then pauses, but before Tony can question, he nods his head and slides into the space Castiel abandoned. “Just let it out,” Jefferson whispers, pulling Bucky back until he’s laying in Jefferson’s lap, his head cradled against Jefferson’s thighs as he cards his fingers through Bucky’s tangled hair. “Sometimes we just need a good cry. It won’t solve anything, but it’ll make you feel better.” 

Tony tenses, not sure how Bucky will react, but Bucky just stares up at him, his eyes wide with what looks almost like wonder. Tears continue to flow, but it feels like the storm is over.

Steve steps closer and Tony heaves a sigh of relief when Steve pulls him into his arms. “Holy fuck, Cap, that was a close one,” Tony says, returning Steve’s crushing hug.

“I should have seen it coming,” Steve replies, all the usual self-recrimination in his voice. “He was keyed up after the mission and we never got to work it out, to bring him down. I should have known.”

“Nuh uh, no way, Steve. This is not your fault.” Tony steps back and glances around to see Dean and Castiel in a similar embrace. Castiel runs his hands over Dean’s arms and back, clearly checking to see if he’s injured, and Dean shakes his head to something Castiel murmurs in his ear.

“I’m supposed to take care of him—”

“Bullshit,” Tony snaps, slapping one hand against the rock-solid muscle of Steve’s chest, so different from Jefferson’s. “You’re not the goddamn savior of the world.”

“Tony—”

The murmur of voices behind them distracts him, and Tony turns away from the fight he’s had with Steve a dozen times to find Jefferson fondly smiling down at Bucky.

“Actually, a whole lot,” Bucky says. He turns his head to press a kiss to Jefferson’s bare thigh, then pushes himself up while rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room then sags back against Jefferson. “Guess the damn hat didn’t work.”

There’s a moment of silence while they all look at each other, then Tony mutters, “Shit.” Dean seconds it with a harsh bark of laughter.

It takes them longer to get re-dressed than it did to shed their clothes, but they’re all quiet as Dean and Castiel lead them out of the little room back to the library. Tony can’t help but notice the way Bucky lingers closer to Jefferson, hand brushing the smaller man’s back as they walk. Jefferson holds the hat against his chest, but his eyes keep trailing over to Bucky.

Dean, moving a little stiffly but seeming no worse for wear after his misadventure, serves drinks around the table and Castiel just opens his mouth to comment when the door to the bunker slams open. 

“Got the book,” Sam calls as he bounds down the stairs. “Did you guys come up with anything?”        


	37. Chapter 37

Disappointment has never tasted so bitter. 

Jefferson sighs as he glares at the hat sitting on the table between his elbows, the tilt in its brim almost innocent. Mocking. Why hasn’t it worked? The theory was sound. Though, despite being stuck here, Jefferson is a little relieved that his magical hat isn’t a complete pervert. 

If it’s not sex, then what triggers it? Is it something one of them has to say? A series of events? A fucking lesson? Does Jefferson have to do an interpretive dance while chanting? It’s frustrating enough that his hat has decided to take them all for a wild ride, now that ride has set Bucky into a panic. 

And it’s all because he can’t get control of his own magic.  

Smooth metal touches his neck and Jefferson whirls around to find Bucky’s nose inches from his. His heart rate picks up, the muscle hammering faster and faster until his ribcage feels too small to contain it. Bucky studies him, his brows pinched, his lips pulled in a frown, and Jefferson swallows the ball of nerves threatening to choke him. 

He acted without thinking back in the guest room. For some reason, seeing Bucky curled up and broken set something off in Jefferson. Something familiar and painful and all Jefferson wanted was to make it stop. He’s not very good at anything other than sewing hats and making a mess of his life, but he’s good at crying. And he knows how good it feels to let tears wash away the pain, even if it’s just for a little while. 

Steve and Tony have hung back since, and Jefferson wonders if he overstepped. If he somehow, in his rush to sooth Bucky, crossed some line. Whatever it is, they don’t need to worry. After Jefferson figures out what’s going on with his damn hat, he’ll take them home and let them get back to their lives. 

The thud of a mug landing next to Jefferson’s arm snaps him out of it, and he forces a smile at Dean, then Bucky. Bucky’s eyes narrow, but he drops his hand and turns to pick up his own steaming mug, his body angled toward Jefferson in a protective arc. 

Castiel’s intense blue eyes settle on the hat, then Jefferson. His mouth opens, but the loud slam of a metal door startles him into silence. 

“Got the book,” Sam calls as he bounds down the stairs. “Did you guys come up with anything?” The tall man skids to a stop as he enters the library, a large, dusty book tucked under one arm. “Um, everything okay?” 

Jefferson looks from Dean to Castiel to his companions. Everyone except Castiel and Bucky is sporting some shade of pink in their cheeks, and Jefferson feels his own skin warm in response. 

“We had a theory,” Tony offers in that way Jefferson’s starting to learn is his need to fill any awkward silence. 

Sam cocks an eyebrow. “And?” 

“It didn’t work, okay?” Dean butts in, his voice rough and his cheeks so red they’re almost glowing. “What’ve you got for us, Sammy?”

Sam eyes Tony and Dean a moment longer before setting the heavy book on the table. The pages are thick and crackly as he flips it open, and a small plume of dust puffs into the air when Sam drops the cover. 

“Okay, so Garth sent me to this guy who knows a guy who had some dealings with a witch who specialized in time travel,” he says as he flips through the pages. “He said she discovered some spell that was able to send her through dimensions but—” Sam looks up with an apologetic grimace. “That was the last time he ever saw her. Poof and she was gone. But she did write down the spell in her book.” 

Sam goes back to flipping through the book until his finger lands on a yellowed page. Dean squints at whatever he’s pointing at, a dubious expression on his face. 

“We have all the ingredients,” Dean mutters as he reads. “But we’re gonna need a witch to perform the spell. This is way beyond us, man.”

Jefferson pushes to his feet and walks around the table until he can see the book over Dean’s shoulder. Spell casting has never been his thing, and even with the Evil Queen’s immense powers, she couldn’t find a spell that could take her to Wonderland. Would this spell even work? What happened to the witch? Can they specify a destination? There are too many unknowns, too many variables, and too many risks to put his new companions through.

“It’s...it’s too risky,” Jefferson croaks. “We can’t do this. Not if it puts Tony and Bucky and Steve’s lives in danger.”

Dean glances over his shoulder. “You got any better ideas?” 

Jefferson shrinks from the heat of Dean’s words, and Dean’s gaze softens. He straightens and turns to face Jefferson, scrubbing a hand down his face to hide his wince, and leans his hip against the table. “Look, I get you want to protect your boyfriends, but unless we do this, you’re all stuck here.”

“They’re not my boyfriends—” 

“Like hell we’re not.” Bucky’s hot breath ghosts the shell of Jefferson’s ear. When did he get so close? “You’re with us, now, till the end of the line, pal.” 

Somewhere behind them, Sam makes a high-pitched choked-off sound, but Jefferson ignores him as he spins to face Bucky. “You’re all in this mess because of me.”

“And we’ll get out of it,” Bucky replies with iron determination in his voice even as his winter-grey eyes soften as they meet Jefferson’s, “together.”

A large hand rests on Jefferson’s shoulder, and he snaps around to find Steve behind him with Tony by his side. “Buck’s right. You’re stuck with us whether you like it or not.” 

Jefferson glances from Bucky to Steve to Tony and his chest aches in a way he’s never experienced. These men who are like gods, who took Jefferson in without question or concern, they want him to be a part of them. Want to share that bond with him and offer him that same strength that keeps them standing tall. 

He wants that. He really, really does, but he’s going to screw it up, and then what? Does he jump into his hat and disappear? Would he be the thing that ruins the perfect harmony that exists between them? No. It doesn’t matter what he wants, he’s not going to destroy another family. 

“I can’t—you can’t—” he protests, but his voice lacks conviction even to his own ears. “You never asked for this, and I’ve disrupted your lives enough. Caused enough problems—”

“Jefferson.” Tony holds up a hand and takes a step toward him but Jefferson ignores him. 

“I’ll fix the hat, I’ve done it before, and I’ll send you back to your world, your families—”   

“Family don’t end with blood.” Dean’s voice is soft, but the words reverberate through Jefferson and cuts off his ramblings. “Don’t have to start there either."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the catch up chapter for last week! Thanks for being patient with us <3


	38. Chapter 38

Jefferson’s silvery blue eyes widen, cheeks going pale, and he snaps his mouth closed as soon as Dean speaks. Dean is all too familiar with the kind of guilt he can hear lacing Jefferson’s every word, and it’s never done him a bit of good. It’s taken a while, but Cas and Sam are finally getting through to him on that count.

“I don’t—” Jefferson clamps his jaw shut on whatever he was about to say, and when Tony takes another step toward him, he throws up his arms and steps backward, face twisting with what looks like grief. “I—excuse me,” he stutters before darting out the door toward the kitchen.

His companions all tense and exchange looks before Bucky moves to go after him. Dean steps into the doorway, blocking his way.

“Move,” Bucky growls, his arm whirring as he clenches his fist.

A frisson of fear races down Dean’s spine—there’s still a twinge of pain there from almost being crushed—but he throws up both hands, palms out, and plants himself. “Chill out, man. Give him a minute.”

Bucky narrows his eyes menacingly and mutters something in what sounds like Russian.

Dean looks over Bucky’s shoulder at Cas, who is crossing the room toward them, and shakes his head, then glances at Tony and Steve. “Look, no offense, but you’re a little intense. The guy’s clearly workin’ through some stuff and having you up in his face won’t help.”

“He’s been through a lot,” Steve says, stepping forward to grip Bucky’s bicep. Bucky tenses for another moment and then relaxes into Steve’s hold, turning to look at Steve when Steve pulls him around.

“I bet.” Dean relaxes and lets out a puff of breath. Though Bucky probably wouldn’t actually hurt him, he has no interest in going up against a pissed off Russian assassin. “Why don’t you guys see what other ideas Sam has rattling around in that big brain of his and I’ll go check on him?”

Bucky still looks like he wants to go right through Dean, but Steve nods, and when Tony steps up to put his hand on Bucky’s other arm, the big man relents. “Fine,” he barks, shrugging off their hands and stalking over to the table without another glance at Dean.

Steve gives Dean an apologetic look and follows Bucky, but Tony lingers for a moment. “He has a daughter,” Tony murmurs. “Something bad happened, and he doesn’t think he deserves to be with her. He plays it close to the chest.”

Dean nods and heads into the kitchen. Jefferson sits at the table, shoulders slumped, staring morosely at his hat on the table in front of him. He flinches when Dean walks in but relaxes when he sees who it is.

“They’re worried about you,” Dean says, sliding onto the bench across from Jefferson.

Jefferson doesn’t answer for a long time, just picks at the brim of his hat as if he didn’t hear Dean. Dean is getting ready to try another angle when Jefferson sighs. “I don’t know what they want from me.”

“Seems to me they want you to be happy.”

“They don’t know me. If they knew what I’ve done—”

Dean pulls the hat away, forcing Jefferson to look up at him. “Whatever you did, you’re not the only person in this bunker who has fucked up. Hell, when it comes to epic failures, you’re not even in the top three.”

“I made a deal with an evil sorceress and lost my daughter.”

Dean shrugs. “I started an apocalypse that almost ended the world.”

Jefferson stares at him.

“We stopped it, me and Sam and Cas, but it was a close call. We lost people, people we cared about who didn’t deserve to die, because of it.”

The refrigerator’s soft hum is the only sound in the kitchen while Jefferson considers that. “You feel guilty?”

Dean barks out a harsh laugh and rubs at a scar on his arm from a hunt that went pear-shaped last year. “Dude, between me and Sam, and Cas, too, we got enough guilt we could power a small city with it. People we couldn’t save. Times we made the wrong choice for what we thought were good reasons. It adds up.”

“How do you live with it?”

It’s Dean’s turn to consider. After a few moments of silence, he says, “Family. It’s the only thing worth keeping up the fight for.”

Jefferson’s eyes shutter and he looks away. “I lost my family.”

“You got a family right out there,” Dean says, waiting until Jefferson looks back at him to tilt his head toward the doorway to the library. “However long you’ve known them, they care about you. Like I said, family isn’t about blood. It’s about what you’ll do, how far you’ll go to protect each other. Those guys got your back if you’ll let them.”

“I don’t want to hurt them the way I hurt Grace. I can’t do anything to fix this without screwing it up. They have enough scars.”

Dean traces the jagged, silvery pucker of skin on his arm with the tip of his finger. “We all have scars, whether people can see them or not. Family don’t care about your scars and they don’t care about what you can do for them. You’re in this together and they’ll keep on until they figure out what it takes to get you—all of you—out of it.”

Jefferson glances wistfully at the doorway. “I’ve never known anyone like them.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone else like them,” Dean counters with a laugh. He covers Jefferson’s hand with his. “Grace might be your family by blood, but those guys want to be your family by choice. You’re the only one who can decide whether you’ll let them.”


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! We should be back to our regular schedule for the most part after the past crazy couple of weeks!!

Castiel has spent his life observing humanity. Despite what everyone thinks, beneath all the heroism and larger-than-life presence, Steve, Bucky and Tony are still human. 

“I should go check on him,” Steve says, his brows pinched.

Bucky doesn’t respond, but the constant whirring of his metal arm is more than enough to indicate his agitation. Tony slumps into a chair beside Bucky and sighs. 

“Don’t think this is a problem you can solve in your usual  _ tackle it head-on _ fashion, Cap,” Tony replies, and Castiel doesn’t miss the hint of enduring mockery in his voice. 

Steve opens his mouth, but he’s cut off by Bucky’s growl as he shoots out of his chair, his eyes wild. Castiel tenses, ready to spring into action at the slightest sign of trouble, but the large man simply paces the length of the library like a pissed off cat.  

Stifling silence stretches like a rubber band, building tension with every passing second that Dean and Jefferson are shut in the kitchen. Sam looks at Castiel, his eyebrows doing a complicated dance, his worried eyes darting between the three superheros and the hall leading to the kitchen. 

Bucky drops into a chair, gets up, then sits down again. Steve wrings his hands in his lap then fists them on his thighs, and Tony’s fingers tap on the thick wood table in some unknown pattern. 

Castiel observes. And resists the urge to smile. “When I first met Dean,” he says quietly, but the room is so quiet he may as well be shouting, “he was a broken soul.”

Four pairs of eyes turn to him. Castiel holds Sam’s gaze for a long, tense moment. He’s never mentioned Dean’s state of mind when he pulled Dean out of Hell. It has always been this thing they don’t talk about. Castiel feels like he is ready, that  _ Dean _ is ready, to finally let it go, and who better to share this with than the men with whom they’ve shared such intimacy. 

“He did things, was doing things, that killed his light from within,” Castiel continues. “When he came back, he shut himself away. It took a long time for him to accept that what he did was always going to be a part of him. His past. Just as I am sure you all have done things you are not proud of.”

All four pairs of eyes dart away, and Bucky’s take on that haunted look once more. Steve wraps his arm around Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky sags into the curve of Steve’s body with a sigh. 

“I do not say this to offend or upset. I just want you to be patient with Jefferson.” Castiel looks to the direction of the kitchen, and his chest swells with fondness and so much love. Dean’s come so far from the man he raised from perdition. “Let him come to you, and when he does, be ready to accept what he’s capable of offering.”

“Offering? What’re we offering?” Dean’s booming voice puts a smile on Castiel’s face. 

“Nothing.” Castiel turns as Dean slides into his personal space. Dean kisses Castiel’s cheek, and the scrape of his stubble warms Castiel’s heart. 

Jefferson steps out from behind Dean, his hat hanging loosely by his side. Bucky makes to get up and rush to him, but stops himself last minute. Castiel allows himself another small smile and ignores Dean’s quizzical look. 

“Jefferson,” Steve starts, but Jefferson shakes his head, his eyes downcast, and the room falls into a tense silence once more. 

When Jefferson finally looks up, his eyes brim with tears but he’s smiling. “I’m so sorry. I know I’m a screw up, and I don’t know how to fix it. But…” His shoulders tremble and his breath catches. 

Bucky shoots out of his chair and clutches Jefferson to his chest. Jefferson stiffens, then melts into the embrace, his arms snaking around Bucky’s waist to clutch at the back of his t-shirt. The hat falls silently at his feet, but Jefferson pays it no mind as he buries his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck. 

Steve and Tony approach from either side, and the four men share a moment so intimate Castiel has to look away. 

“Looks like they’re gonna sort their shit out after all,” Dean whispers next to him.

“Yeah, now all that’s left is the spell,” Sam says behind them. 

Castiel turns and nods. “It is worth a shot. Maybe we should go collect the ingredients and give them some space.”

Dean gives him a side-eyed look. “You’re such a romantic.”

Castiel glares at Dean, but he can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “It’s called human decency.”

Dean snorts. “Says the angel.”

Sam rolls his eyes and turns to leave. A gust of wind whips his hair into his face, and Castiel spins around as flashes of colour swirl around the four men in the middle of the library. Dean stiffens next to him, but no-one moves as they stare, transfixed, at the hat spinning faster and faster by Jefferson’s feet. 

The wind grows stronger. A vortex scattering papers and shifting the furniture. Castiel shoves Dean behind him, his wings unfurling and flapping to counter the pull of the whirlwind dragging them toward the psychedelic cyclone. 

Then, the wind dies. Colours fade. Castiel moves his arm covering his eyes and blinks.

“Damn,” Dean spits. 

“Just like that, huh?” Sam’s incredulous voice is as soft as Dean’s.

Castiel tucks his wings away, scans the empty library, and smiles. 


	40. Chapter 40

“Do you ever actually listen to me when I talk?” Danny asks, tipping back in the kitchen chair and squinting at his partner. Some kind of hip hop plays from the radio on the counter, but Danny has long since given up trying to convince Steve to change it.

Steve looks up from the fish he’s filleting. “What?”

“No, you do not. I talk just to hear the sound of my own voice. What could I possibly say that would be of interest to you?” When Steve just rolls his eyes and goes back to making dinner, Danny sighs. “How was your day, Danny? Well, Steve, let me tell you, today was rough. I found condoms in Grace’s desk drawer and then when I tried to talk to her about it, she—”

“Wait, I thought Grace was seeing Lou’s boy?”

Danny throws his hands up. “Do you live under a rock? They broke up three months ago. She hasn’t mentioned any new boys but then there’s these condoms and—”

“How did you find condoms in her desk drawer?” Steve asks, scratching the side of his head. He folds foil over the fish and slides the dish into the oven before turning to face Danny. “Were you snooping?’

“Why does everyone think I was snooping? I was looking for a stapler. Let me tell you, a stapler is what a person expects to find in a desk drawer, not a twelve pack of condoms.”

Steve pulls two bottles of beer from the fridge and brings them over to the table as the song on the radio changes. The dance beat is low and thrumming, and it makes something molten unfurl in Danny’s gut. He hasn’t heard music like this since he was back in Jersey, a single college guy frequenting clubs and trying to “find himself.”

“A twelve pack?” Steve gives a low whistle and Danny resists the urge to smack him. “It wasn’t open?”

Danny twists up his mouth. “No, it wasn’t open, but that’s not the point. The point is—”

A blast of wind swirls through the kitchen and several loud thumps punctuated by a crash in the living room cut Danny off again. After eight years of being Steve’s partner, you’d think he’d be used to it, but he’s really getting tired of being interrupted. 

Steve is already reaching for the gun laying on the counter next to the stove when several muffled voices carry from the other room. Danny pulls his own gun from the holster he’d dropped on the table when he came in and prepares to back Steve up. After the day he’s had, he’s really not in the mood for a home invasion.

Danny’s seen a lot of crazy things in his time with 5-0, but the scene that greets them in the living room has to take the cake. Four men sprawl on the floor, gradually pushing themselves to their feet, as a top hat—an honest to god P. T. Barnum top hat—spins to a stop between them. 

That’s not even the weirdest part. Two of the men could be twins save for their difference in build and one of them having a metal arm. Another man has something glowing on his chest through the thin material of his t-shirt. They all look disoriented and bewildered. Not your average, everyday home invasion. Weird even by 5-0 standards.

“Stay where you are and show me your hands,” Steve barks, leveling his weapon at them. 

Danny fans out to the side of the room, covering them from another angle while surveying the closed front door. How the hell did they get in? And why bring a top hat to a home invasion?

“We’re not looking for trouble,” the tall, built blond says, taking a half step forward to angle himself between Steve and the other three men. So he’s the leader, then. “We can explain.”

The dark haired one with the goatee and the disco ball on his chest scoffs. “Well, if by explain you mean mutter a bunch of mumbo jumbo that makes no sense and wander in circles until we’re kidnapped again, sure, we can explain.”

Danny shoots a look at Steve, who looks just as confused as Danny feels. “You were kidnapped?” Steve says without lowering his gun. His gaze darts around the room before coming back to rest on the men.

The blond shrugs. “In a manner of speaking.” He tilts his head toward Steve’s gun. “I promise, we’re not a danger to you. If you put that away, we can all sit down and talk.”

Steve glances at Danny, who shrugs. He wouldn’t mind hearing this story, whatever it turns out to be. “We could hear them out,” Danny says, sweeping another assessing gaze over the men. “And call Duke to run them down to the station if their story doesn’t check out.”

It’s another few tense beats before Steve slowly lowers his weapon and motions for the men to sit. Danny takes the recliner while three of the men sit on the couch and the long-haired, metal arm guy drops into the opposite armchair. Danny doesn’t miss the way the big blond curls the smaller, terrified looking twin into his side.

Steve, the control freak that he is, stays standing and doesn’t put away his gun. At least he flips the safety on. “Okay, you’ve got thirty seconds to tell us what the hell is going on and how you got into my house. I have to tell you, if this is some plan to get back at the Task Force going through me is about the least effective way you could have picked.”

Danny nods. “He’s right. He’s crazy. You’ll never get anywhere with this guy.”

“We’re not trying to get back at anyone,” the blond says. “I’m Steve, this is Tony, Jefferson, and Bucky, and we don’t actually know how we got here.”

Two Steves? Great. Like one wasn’t enough.

At Steve’s—McGarrett, not crazy hot guy—raised eyebrow, Tony sighs. “Well,” he says, waving a hand at the top hat still sitting on the floor. “See, there’s this magic hat…”


	41. Chapter 41

“See, there’s this magic hat…” 

Okay, maybe thirty seconds was too lenient. Steve crosses his arms and holds up a finger. “Excuse me? Magic hat?” 

“Yes,  _ magic _ hat,” Tony repeats. “It’s Jefferson’s and it’s been acting strange. Hopping through different dimensions and dragging us along with it. Which is how we ended up here, in your living room. By the way, you guys happen to have movies about us here, too?” 

“Wait wait wait—” Danny leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “Magic hat that jumps through  _ dimensions _ ?” 

“ _ Yes _ .” Tony sighs, and Steve resists the urge to roll his eyes. 

Is the guy a movie star or something? Judging by his flippant attitude, Steve wouldn’t be surprised. He catches Danny’s eyes and he’s sure Danny’s thinking exactly what he is. “Are you guys on drugs?” 

Two pairs of sharp eyes snap to Steve. If it wasn’t for his years of SEAL training, Steve would jump out of his skin having men like Bucky and the other Steve look at him with such intensity. 

Jefferson clears his throat as he pulls away from the other Steve and sits straighter. “None of us are on drugs. Tony’s telling the truth.”

Danny’s brows furrow, his bottom lip protruding in that way Steve’s come to love whenever Danny believes someone’s yanking his chain. Steve resists the urge to smile despite his twitchy trigger finger. Instead, he turns his attention back to the strangers in his living room. 

The other Steve shifts forward on the couch, his large body tense as if ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation. Bucky’s sprawled in the recliner, his metal arm gleaming in the orange sunlight streaming through the living room window. Steve’s not fooled by Bucky’s display of relaxation. There’s intent in the way they both carry themselves and Steve is familiar with that body language. 

Steve and Bucky are military.

After his stint in the Navy then working on the 5-0 task force, Steve likes to think he’s a good judge of character. After all, he did put together a stellar team despite public records and prejudice. The part of him that operates on gut feeling believes these guys, but the logical part of him, the part he ignores more often than not, wants to put the strangers in cuffs and take them in for questioning. 

“Okay, so, you expect us to believe that you’re from some magical world where hats can jump through dimensions and”—Steve points at the hat still on the living room floor—“you’re just along for the ride?”

“Not all hats,” Jefferson says. “Just this one.”

“Okay,  _ this _ hat.” Steve shifts and thumbs the safety on his gun. “You’ll have to excuse me, gentlemen, but I’m not buying whatever it is you’re selling.”

Tony crosses his arms. “Like I said,” he huffs and rolls his eyes, “circles.”

The other Steve—it’s getting really exhausting calling him that—gives Tony a dirty side-eyed glance. “Tony. Not helping.” He turns back to Steve and sighs. “What do we have to do to prove we’re not lying?”

Steve looks into the other Steve’s deep blue eyes. There’s resignation and defiance there. A challenge that says he’s got nothing to hide. Men who are lying do not have eyes like that.

A long, quiet moment passes as Steve locks eyes with the other Steve, and something shifts between them that Steve can’t articulate. He stuffs his gun into the back waistband of his cargos and motions for Danny to follow him. Once out of the living room and out of ear-shot, Steve turns to a very constipated looking Danny. 

“So—”

“Are you out of your mind?” Danny rakes a hand through his meticulously combed hair. 

“What? I haven’t said anything.”

“You don’t need to. I know that look.” Danny crosses his arms, his bulging biceps giving the sleeves of his dress shirt a run for their money.

Steve opens his mouth, the indignant retort on his tongue, but his words stop short at the fire in Danny’s eyes. “Okay, but hear me out. I don’t think they’re lying.”

“And how would you know?”

“I don’t, it’s just a gut feeling.”

Danny’s gaze travels down and stops at Steve’s stomach. “Pretty sure you’re just hungry.”

Steve takes a deep breath and swallows his frustration. Sometimes Danny’s sass really pisses him off. “Then what do you propose we do?”

“Take them down to the station and let the police handle it,” Danny says as if it’s the most obvious course of action. 

Steve knows Danny’s right. Danny and his Jersey pessimism and logic. And any other time Steve would agree, but there’s something about these guys, about the familiarity rolling off them that makes Steve want to give them the benefit of the doubt. 

“Don’t you think their story’s too far fetched to be a lie?”

“You can’t honestly think they’re telling the truth?” Danny throws his hands up, his face turning red. “Magic hats? Jumping through dimensions? Don’t need a polygraph to know it’s a load of bullshi—”

“Danny, yes!” 

Danny blinks and wets his lips with a quick flick of his tongue. “Excuse me?”

“That’s it! You’re a genius,” Steve exclaims and begins to turn back toward the living room. 

Danny grabs Steve’s elbow, yanking him back. “What’re you talking about?”

“A polygraph test.”

Danny’s eyes widen. “Okay, even if I think it’ll work, and I don’t, you just happen to have one laying around?” 

Steve grins and pulls his phone from his pant pocket. “I don’t, but I know who does,” he says and thumbs Jerry’s number. 


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the unexpected hiatus. The new position I took at work is kicking my butt, but I think things have settled down. We should be back to our fairly regular posting schedule now.

Bucky leans in and whispers, “Will one of those even work on us?”

Tony and Jefferson—unable to hear the conversation in the other room—give him confused looks, but Steve just shakes his head. “I have no idea.” Despite all the poking and prodding he’s endured, Steve has never been given a polygraph test. Howard had a machine in his lab and Peggy had talked about using it to interrogate the few Hydra operatives they managed to capture alive, but Steve figures they’re probably a lot different these days. 

“You gonna explain?” Tony grumbles. 

Jefferson, tucked between Steve and Tony on the couch, doesn’t comment, but it’s clear he’s just as interested in Steve’s answer as Tony.

“A polygraph. They’re talking about calling someone to give us one.” Steve gives Jefferson a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sure it will be fine, but they’re a pretty suspicious pair.”

“Gee, Cap, I wonder why,” Tony retorts. “If we were back in my lab—”

Steve cuts him off with a look as Danny and the other Steve come back into the room. Danny looks even more uncomfortable than he did when they walked out, and Steve tries to project a non-threatening air.

“You four just hang tight,” the other Steve says, narrowing his eyes at them. “We’ve got an expert”—Danny coughs into his fist, earning a sharp glare—“coming over to give you a polygraph. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Steve says, projecting as much calm into his voice as he can, “we’ll do whatever we can to show we’re not a threat.” 

After the way the last two jumps went, Steve hasn’t given much thought to what they’d do if they landed in a hostile situation with sweatpants, no weapons, and bare feet. He’s got no doubt Tony and Bucky can hold their own, but Steve wants to avoid putting Jefferson in the middle of a fight if he can. He wishes he’d been able to grab his shield before they were whisked away.

A series of beeps from the other room breaks the silence. 

“Shit, the fish,” the other Steve exclaims. He gives them another assessing look before turning to Danny. “Keep an eye on these jokers while I pull the fish out. Hopefully, we can get this squared away before it gets cold.”

Danny watches them warily from the doorway to the kitchen while the clang of metal pans, a loud thud, and vehement cursing come from the other room. The other Steve doesn’t re-emerge until the doorbell rings. He stops in the doorway while Danny crosses the room to open the front door.

A large man with a week’s worth of scruff and long, wild brown hair that gives him a crazed appearance fills the door frame when Danny steps back. The words on his t-shirt— _Everything you know is a lie_ —are partially obscured by his short-sleeved plaid over-shirt. He clutches a metal briefcase to his chest. “McGarrett said to come right over,” he says, slightly out of breath as he pushes into the house. “I don’t know what the big hurry was. A marathon of the X-f—”

He breaks off and his eyes go wide as soon as they land on them. He snaps his jaw closed and whirls on the other Steve as he crosses the room. Hurt colors his tone. “Is this some kind of joke? Make fun of the crazy guy who lives in his mom’s basement? I thought we’d gotten past that.”

“Jerry, man, calm down,” the other Steve placates, laying a hand on the man’s arm as soon as he reaches him. “It’s not a joke, or, at least, it isn’t our joke. These four broke into my house with some kind of crazy story about a magic hat.”

“Didn’t break in,” Tony says. When Steve shoots him a look that is mirrored by the other Steve, he shrugs. “What? We didn’t.”

“Not the point, Tony.”

“It isn’t a crazy story either,” Tony continues, practically immune to Steve’s glare after all these years. If he was ever susceptible at all. “Well, I mean, it is pretty crazy, but it’s also true, so that doesn’t make it so crazy, right?”

“Tony?” the big man squeaks. His eyes flick down to Tony’s chest, where the faint glow of the arc reactor peaks through the plain black cotton of his borrowed—stolen now—t-shirt. “Tony Stark?”

“You know him?” Danny barks, incredulity dripping from his words.

Jerry’s eyes skate over Bucky—widening even farther—and then Steve—wider still—until they are as big as saucers by the time he lands on Jefferson. “I’m pretty sure I know all of them.” He looks at Jefferson again and amends, “Well, except that guy.”

The other Steve shakes his head. “Focus, Jerry. Where do you know him from? One of your conspiracy theory conventions?”

Jerry lets out a bark of startled laughter. “ _ Tales of Suspense _ #39,” he says, shoving the metal case at the other Steve so he can step closer to Tony. “March 1963. Of course, he didn’t get his own title until May 1968.” He reaches out one hand, face lax with awe and one finger extended as if he’s going to poke the reactor, until Tony bats his hand away. Then he blinks and has the grace to look contrite.

The other Steve sets the case on the coffee table and grabs Jerry’s arm. “What the hell are you on about?” he snaps. “Who is this guy?”

Jerry’s voice is full of wonder when he says, “Anthony Edward Stark. Son of Howard and Maria Stark.”

“He’s a friend of yours?

“I wish,” Jerry says with a laugh. “No, he’s Iron Man.” 


	43. Chapter 43

The smell of slightly charred fish is distracting. Not in an unpleasant kind of way, but rather the smell of butter and lemon and sage reminds Bucky that they haven’t eaten since...he can’t even remember. 

“Swear to God we’re famous in every universe.” Tony’s voice drags Bucky from those distracting aromas. He’s making a face between amusement and acceptance. Sometimes Bucky wonders if anything fazes Tony anymore. 

Jerry’s grin is so wide it hurts Bucky’s cheeks just looking at him. “You’re an icon, sir.”  He turns his attention to Bucky, his eyes lingering on the metal arm. “And you must be J ames Buchanan Barnes.” 

Bucky follows Jerry’s gaze and tries to see what the other man sees. Another icon. A symbol of his torture and betrayal and— 

Shit. Bucky wonders if Jerry knows all the things he did with Hydra’s noose around his neck. Wonders if the story of his life in this world includes the redemption he so desperately wants. 

So desperately needs. 

Bucky clenches his metal hand, letting the plates shift and the gears settle before saying, “Just Bucky’s fine.” 

Jerry nods and takes a few shallow breaths, then turns to Steve. “And you—” He walks up to Steve, and Bucky swears his chest puffs out a little as admiration swims in his saucer-like eyes. “You must be Steve Rogers. It’s an honour to meet you, Captain.” Jerry’s hand sweeps up in a crisp salute and nearly clips Steve on the chin. 

Despite the unease sitting in the pit of Bucky’s stomach, his lips twitch when Steve shifts from one foot to the other. The novelty has worn off back home, and it’s been a while since someone looked at Steve like he hung the damn moon. 

It’s cute, though, and Bucky gets a kick out of watching Steve squirm.  

“ _ Captain _ ?” Danny’s voice, already tight, is now laced with disbelief. “As in Captain  _ America _ ?” 

Steve swallows and shrugs uncomfortably. 

Jerry cocks an eyebrow at Danny. “You know Captain America?” 

“I  _ do _ have children.” 

“Touch é .” 

“I don’t believe this.” Danny throws his hands in the air, a gesture he seems quite fond of. “I do not believe this. I can’t. It’s impossible.”

Bucky opens his mouth, the words “it’s very possible” on the tip of his tongue, when the other Steve beats him to it. “Wait, like  _ comic book _ characters?” 

Jerry’s sharp gaze snaps to the other Steve, his saucer eyes now narrowed into slits, and the other Steve holds up his hands, palms out and placating. “Whoa there, it’s just, this is a lot to process, okay?”

“Okay?” Jerry replies, his eyes narrowing further. 

“Look, this isn’t some sick joke. We called you here to give us a hand with”—the other Steve sweeps his hand in the general direction of the strangers in his living room—“all this. And now you’re telling us they’re  _ comic book characters _ . Can you see how this may feel a bit far-fetched?”  

Danny stands, then sits back down again, his hands raking through his hair as if combing for answers. “Okay, say they are superheroes. Who’s the twin?” He points at Jefferson, and the skin on the back of Bucky’s neck prickles.

He gets off the recliner and settles next to Jefferson on the couch, slinging an arm around Jefferson’s shoulder. “He’s got a name.” The need to protect Jefferson outweighs any social niceties, and Bucky’s way beyond caring. 

Jefferson lays a gentle hand on Bucky’s knee and squeezes, and those big grey-blue eyes find Bucky’s with reassurance. “I’m not... I’m not from their world,” Jefferson offers with a faint, sad smile. “But you may know mine from fairy tales. I assume you have those here?”

Danny frowns and nods. “Yeah, we do.”

“Are you familiar with Wonderland? Or—” A tremor rolls through Jefferson—so slight Bucky would have missed it had he not been seated so close—and he curls into Bucky’s side. “—the Mad Hatter?” 

“Wonderland?” Jerry perks up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Like ‘Alice in Wonderland’?” 

Jefferson nods, and realization hits Bucky in the face like a brick. “Wait, fairy tales are real?”

“Very.”

Bucky traces the scar around Jefferson’s neck. The man shudders and inhales sharply, and Bucky backs off. On Jefferson’s other side, Steve tenses and frowns. The story of Wonderland surfaces from some forgotten crevice of his mind and Bucky resists the urge to punch something. Judging by that scar, the Queen of Hearts’ threats of “off with his head” may not have been a threat after all.  

“Fairy tales. Superheroes.  _ Christ _ .” Danny gets up and paces the length of the living room, his hands buried in his hair. The other Steve joins him, and the two march back and forth in sync.  

A hush falls over the room save for the shuffle of boots on laminate. Bucky cradles Jefferson protectively into his side, his eyes darting between the other Steve and Danny and Jerry. Jerry looks harmless, but the way he keeps throwing them heart eyes makes Bucky want to punch him in the face. Steve and Danny keep looking at each other, their eyes communicating in the same way he and Steve have for nearly a century ago on the battlefield. 

The thought stirs something in Bucky, and his flesh hand trembles with the memories. Life was so simple back then. Black and white, life and death. There was no magic save for the spark between them. Missions were simple once they were boiled down to the core, and when they lived through each one, they celebrated a little harder. Latched onto those rare little moments of reprieve and joy a little more desperately. 

Things will never be simple like that again, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Bucky looks to Tony, who’s uncharacteristically subdued as he perches on the couch arm next to their Steve, and hugs Jefferson even tighter against him. The past seventy odd years were a blur of pain and torture and death, but Bucky wouldn’t trade any of it if it meant not having Tony in his life. 

And now Jefferson. 

A loud gurgle echoes from the far side of the room. Bucky and Steve look up at the same time to find the other Steve paused mid-stride, his skin flushed all the way past his collar. 

“Seriously?” Danny’s eyebrows do a complicated dance of disapproval. “Now?”

“What?” Steve shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “I was looking forward to dinner, okay?” 

“Speaking of dinner,” Tony pipes up for the first time in what feels like forever. “Can we order food? I’m starving.”

Danny makes as if to speak, then throws his hands in the air again. He shakes his head when the other Steve snorts. 

The other Steve pulls his phone out of his pocket and asks, “Who’s up for some Chinese?” 


End file.
